


The Blood You Owe

by PreseaMoon



Series: Zack Lives AU [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23607049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreseaMoon/pseuds/PreseaMoon
Summary: Zack dies, but never for good.
Relationships: Zack Fair & Tseng, Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough
Series: Zack Lives AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781704
Comments: 49
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey

Zack bleeds out on a cliff overlooking Midgar, and with certainty he’s never known before he thinks that this is what death feels like. Unlike brushes with it in the past, this is true death. Pain courses through him, rushing from head to toe as it replaces his blood. A numb sensation engulfs his senses, pushing his consciousness further and further from his body. Until all eighteen—twenty-three, he’s twenty-three, now—years of his life feel like they don’t belong to him. Like his existence was only ever some stranger’s fading dream.

Maybe that is all he ever was.

His life blanks out.

Only to flare right back up.

Like a short, fitful rest. Like one of Hojo’s more unpleasant experiments. Like a barrage of bullets to the chest.

He wakes with a dry gasp, sucking in air his lungs can’t remember how to exhale. For a moment he struggles, chest tight and throat brittle. On the exhale he’s rewarded with a coughing fit that has him rolling to hand and knee as globs of congealed blood work their way up his throat. As his head throbs a pain unlike any other he’s experienced spreads through his body. Not worse than dying, or much better than it, just different. Adjacent. It’s more of a deep seated ache, like he’s been bedridden months and his muscles have atrophied beyond reason.

He spits in the mud, into the mess of blood, and then spits nothing in a pitiful attempt to rid himself of the ashy taste of copper and death sticking in his mouth. With great effort he pulls himself back to stare up at the sky, panting and empty. There’s nothing there. Only dark grey clouds blotting out the sky. Nothing at all. He thought he saw Angeal’s hand reach for him. He thought he reached back. He thought...

He swallows, and immediately doubles over, dry heaving until he’s throwing up more blood. Rain pelts his back, the fine droplets sounding like a hail of tiny bullets at every point of contact. The comparison sends a wave of vertigo through him, and he has to close his eyes to keep steady.

How long has it been? Hours? Weeks? At this moment there’s no difference between them.

There’s mud crusted in his matted hair on his neck, his ears, the places where his borrowed uniform indented the ground. There are holes in the fabric. Frayed, melted, grazing skin that doesn’t feel equally full of holes, that doesn’t feel irritated by the contact. His arms are a splotchy mess of blood and dirt and spots where both were washed away by rain.

He eases himself back to sit and take stock of his surroundings. Cloud isn’t here, which could mean several things. Zack wants to think it’s because he’s on his way to Midgar. That he made it there. That’s what he wants to believe, that he can find a better, peaceful life for himself. The Buster Sword isn’t present either, which is hopefully a point towards Cloud’s ability to have made it to Midgar at all. The ground is a mess but gives no evidence to the battle that occurred. There’s an imprint of his body basically carved into the ground.

With more concentration than should be warranted he pushes himself to stand. When he’s on his feet he almost wishes he hadn’t stood at all. His head spins, and he tenses in an effort to keep still in spite of it.

He can see Midgar in the distance, promise and despair all wrapped up into one. Is Cloud there? Is Aerith?

He reaches out, but his arm drops before it can fully extend.

Then, he takes the first step of many to Midgar.

The trouble Zack finds as he approaches Midar, and therefore crosses paths with a handful of individuals, is that he looks like a murder victim. The exact details he can’t be too sure of, but from what he’s been able to gather from his own inspection and others’ reactions is that he isn’t too pretty right now. No one yet has approached him regarding it. Rather, they see him, make a startled expression, and then stay steadfastly away.

One person starts to approach him, but when they’re close enough to see his eyes they change course like they weren’t headed for him at all.

In the interest of being indiscreet, as much as you can be in a city like Midgar, he waits until well after the sun has set to enter the Sector 7 slums. He doesn’t know it as well as Sector 5 or Sector 6, but he doesn’t want to enter too close to his destination. Just in case. 

There’s still plenty of people out, but they’re a different type than those who roam during the day. In some ways that’s less ideal, but as he makes his way through the streets and between buildings and shanties he tries to stick to the darkest bits of shadow, which wouldn’t be possible during daytime. There, he scavenges among trash and forgotten items for something he can use. Eventually he finds a tattered and dirty tarp that’s definitely seen better days but manages to cover his top half without leaving him completely restricted.

With that accomplished, he moves on to the next objective, finding a place to stay. Just for a night or two while he tries to put everything together. Himself, the past, the future, what his current situation may be. Zack is confirmed dead, right? Or rather, confirmed dead again. But what about Cloud. Surely ShinRa won’t simply assume his death. Surely the Turks won’t, at any rate. They might be looking for him, or on high alert still.

He shakes the thoughts from his head. Focus. A place to stay first, worry about ShinRa later.

Zack has been to Sector 7 before, but he knows it in broad strokes. What kind of districts are popular, the general layout, the demographic. He doesn’t know where any inns are located, or which businesses might offer lodging on the side to unlucky vagrants wandering through. There are several bars in the area that might be safe bets, but it’s not uncommon for ShinRa workers or Turks to visit bars in the slums. He can’t take the risk.

The convenient thing about doing this at night is the majority of businesses that open are either inns or bars, and it’s fairly obvious which is which. The first inn he comes across he passes on. It’s too small, too out in the open, and the individuals walking in make him want to stay away. The second inn he comes across is tucked in a dead end alleyway and has too many neon lights blinding the immediate area. The third inn is out of the way but isn’t cut off from other exits, and there’s a window letting him peer inside to the dim lobby and an aging man behind the desk.

Before entering he clears his throat, and then takes a moment to stretch his vocal chords because he hasn’t spoken for… a while. Several days at minimum, probably more, and it shows. His voice is rough, thin, and it takes long enough to be disconcerting for it to return to some semblance of normal. He runs a hand through his hair an additional time trying to dislodge any lingering mud in his hair.

None of his efforts do much to lessen the shock of his appearance, if the man’s bemused expression is anything to go by. 

Zack coughs and saunters up to the desk as if nothing here is off. He is a totally ordinary man looking for a room on an ordinary night. “Hey, good evening. I’m looking to get a room?”

The man looks him up and down.“Yeah. That’ll be sixty gil a night.”

Zack smiles as a reflex. “About that. I’m a little short on cash at the moment. However,” he says while the man’s brows begin to rise. “I am a mercenary, and I am more than happy to earn my keep.”

This does not stop the man’s eyebrows in their tracks. They only go higher. “Oh? That so? How ‘bout that. And what kinda work you do, boy?” He’s making direct eye contact with him but nothing about it is overtly hostile.

“I’m glad you asked. Anything. No job is too big or too small—” He cuts himself off before he can thoughtlessly give his full name. “Chores around the inn, cleaning, putting things together, need a pick up or a delivery I’m on it. Or if there’s trouble with a guest or a fight needs to be broken up outside, I’m your man. Monsters, too. I have… experience there, too.”

“Huh. No job too big or too small. Might wanna rethink that one. People are gonna get the wrong idea with that spiel.” At Zack’s lack of reaction he shakes his head. “Fine. You got a deal.”

In his excitement Zack punches a hand into his fist. “Yes! Thank you. I won’t let you down.”  
The man waves his hand dismissively, not looking at Zack as he turns to grab a key for him. “Room’s down that hall there. Last room on the left.”

“Thank you,” Zack says sincerely, taking the key and holding it tight in his hand like a lifeline.

Once in the room he pulls the tarp off himself and heads straight to the bathroom. There, he turns the shower on and gets his first look at himself while he waits for it to warm up. The first thing he notes is that he’s too pale. There isn’t any warmth in his body or limbs, like the blood he lost is just… gone for good. His undereyes are dark, ghoulish purple against the pallid ash of his face. His hair is so dirty it’s practically slicked back, the spikes of it listless and drooping towards the ground in angry points. He could probably use a haircut, too.

Then, there’s his eyes, and those are concerning. They’re vibrant blue, shot through with mako, like they’re supposed to be. But, there’s something else there, too. A swirling green undertone, which, if he thinks about it has always been there, but never like this. Not twined with the glow of mako as if it has a seperate lifeforce. Like this, his eyes look like a mess of components coming undone, a chemical reaction undoing itself against the odds. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

He peels away the layers of the SOLDIER uniform he’s still wearing. The pieces come off his body stiffly, like they’ve fused to his body since he put it on. And hey, maybe they are glued to him with blood. Everything is stained with it, so much blood it makes him dizzy to think of how it came from him. Once he’s got all of it off he takes a look at himself and… this isn't how his body should look. There’s not a scar on him from what happened. Not a single hole or indent.

He runs his hands over his skin, giving extra attention to areas he knows for a fact he was hit, smoothing over, pinching, pressing. The texture is normal, there isn’t pain, he can feel normally. Aside from the fact he can remember it—mostly clearly he can remember it anyway— and all the evidence proving otherwise, it’s as if nothing happened.

The shower is lukewarm at best, but figuring it’s not going to get any warmer than that he steps under it. The pressure isn’t very strong but he can’t even remember the last time he had an actual shower. There’s a tiny complimentary bar of soap and he uses up all of it removing the never ending grime from his body. He barely notices when the water starts running cold, just sitting under it until his fingers start to go numb and a wave of dizziness washes over him.

He dries himself with the thin towel as best he’s able, and drops right into the bed, burying his face in the pillow without a second thought. The scratchy blanket irritates his skin and the sheet isn’t soft at all, but it’s so welcoming he barely notices. He’s asleep before he can think of where he’d rather be.

Zack wakes up with a headache and his body feels like it’s waterlogged. Or maybe that’s a result of his arm and feet hanging off the bed. He has to force his body to move, first to his back and then sitting up, and somehow it’s stiffer now than it was when he woke up on the cliff overlooking Midgar.

Across from him on the table is a pile of clothes that definitely wasn’t there before. It’s a little concerning the proprietor or whoever was able to enter the room without him waking up. Or if he did wake up he doesn’t remember it at all.

He presses the heel of his hand to his forehead. Unlike before he feels actually rested, but he still feels off balance somehow.

The clothing isn’t a perfect fit, but it’s clean and intact and civilian so it’s already better than what he was wearing before. He puts the boots he was wearing back on, partially because a pair were not provided for him and SOLDIER boots are thick, steel toed, and durable. The leather is stained with blood, but against the black it shouldn’t be that noticeable to the casual observer. He also puts the leather gloves back on despite the blood. Without any weapons—he has materia on him but it’ll draw too much attention—he’ll need to rely on his body if he comes across trouble, and he may be... an enhanced human, but he can still be damaged, skin tearing, bones fracturing, healing wrong. Or, that’s how it’s supposed to be.

He comes his fingers through his hair, trying to give it some sort of order, and then walks out to the lobby. There’s a different man sitting behind the desk. He seems to be around the same age as the man from before, but he’s sporting a bear and a more open face. When he sees Zack he perks up slightly. “Hey, good to see you up and at’em. We were starting to think you weren’t gonna wake up at all.”

“Yeah?” One of Zack’s hands goes behind his head a little awkwardly. “How long has it been?”

“Three days. Or, three and a half days, I guess.”

“Oh?” Zack smiles from his effort to keep cool. And then, takes advantage of the opening. “And that makes the date, what exactly?”

“Uh.” The man looks aside. “October 23rd.”

Zacks nods like that information isn’t as disconcerting as he finds it. Last he knew it was September.

“In any case, I bet you’re hungry. Want some, uh, lunch? On the house. Or, as much as it can be you’re earning your keep.”

Zack stares at him blankly while his brain tries to work out when he last ate and whether or not he’s feeling any effects of starvation. Even for a SOLDIER going three weeks without eating would take its toll. He should have noticed at some point during the past few days. Adrenaline wouldn’t have kept him going that entire time.

“Yeah, I’d appreciate it,” he answers and takes a seat at the nearby table.

The man goes and comes back with a plate of food, setting it in front of him and taking a seat at the table.

Zack halfway expects his stomach to grumble or ache at the sight of food. Or if not at the sight, at the appetizing, long missed scent of a freshly prepared meal. There’s nothing, though. As if he’s totally sated when he knows for a fact he’s running on empty.

Is he really, though?

Does starvation matter when a hail of bullets won’t end him?

This wasn’t a one off thing, he knows, realizes, now. There are times, from his childhood, from his time as a cadet, early on in his SOLDIER days, in Wutai, where maybe when he pushed his luck a little too far it wasn’t luck at all that saved him. Or maybe every time was luck, and he’s trying in vain to make this… whatever it is, miracle, freak accident of science, into something more than it is.

“Didn’t give your name,” the man states, eyeing him in a way that suggests he finds Zack a little peculiar for not digging into his meal.

“Ah, no I didn’t. I’m sorry. I was a little… out of sorts when I arrived. I’m Zack,” he says, finding he can’t bring himself to lie in the face of these peoples’ good will towards him.

“Huh. Running from something?” He purses his lips slightly, considering the weight that will hold if it’s the case.

Zack sighs. “I don’t even know anymore, honestly.”

There’s nothing to run from at the moment, but he’s too aware of how quickly that can and will change. To ShinRa he is not some traitor to put down or a SOLDIER returned from the dead. He is simply an escaped experiment, running loose and wrecking havoc and potentially sullying their name.

The thought makes his stomach churn and he swallows down bile with a glass of water.

“I’m Alex,” the man says. “Markus is my husband, he’s the one you spoke with before, and whose clothes you’re wearing.”

“Thank you very much. Please thank him for me as well. I’m in your debt.”

“Yeah, you are. But try not to worry about it too much, alright, kid? We got plenty of time and plenty of work to get done.”

Zack nods. “Of course. What kind of work did you have in mind?”

Alex grunts with a half shrug. “This and that. There’s some maintenance we haven’t gotten around to in some rooms. Showerheads that don’t work properly. Some broken furniture. There’s a hole in the back office’s ceiling. Handyman part of your job description, Mr. Mercenary?” He has the smallest smile but it’s not unkind.

“It sure is. As long as the pay is fair, I’ll consider any job. Well, almost any job.”

Zack hasn’t exactly done any of those things before, but he’s resourceful. He can figure it out. How hard can it be?

Hard, it turns out, was the wrong thing to be concerned about. Maintenance is frustrating and annoying. The tools don’t want to comply and the materials will trick him into thinking they’re working as intended only to fail moments or minutes later. Every job takes longer than it should, and he can’t guarantee any of them will hold out long term, but he gets them done. There’s one thing after another, and in hindsight he should have tried to negotiate how much he’d do for what, because this way he ends up spending the majority of the following week as an impromptu handyman.

November arrives quietly, and he takes it as a sign that he’s not on anyone’s radar.

He doesn’t expect any standard trooper to recognize him on sight, either as SOLDIER 1st Class Zack Fair or Escaped Hojo Experiment. The Turks, on the other hand… This is a situation where being on friendlier terms with them might not work to his benefit. Cissnei looked the other way, but will the rest of them? Will Cissnei if they were to cross paths again? Will Tseng?

All of them, Zack included, have been loyal to ShinRa against all odds, against their own interests and desires. There just wasn’t anything else, he supposes. There weren’t real alternatives. And… even with the darkness, Zack was still able to do a lot of good for ordinary people. The good didn’t outweigh the bad, not really, but it felt like enough.

There’s a line in there somewhere, but even now Zack can’t distinguish the details, because Zack isn’t in this position from his choice, but ShinRa’s.

It’s also a reason to not linger. On the off chance they are looking for him, the less information they can get the better. So at the end of the week he bids farewell to Alex and Markus, thanking them for their generosity and heading out on what should be the last leg of his nearly year long journey. It’s been almost a year since he broke them out of the mansion, but it doesn’t feel like it at all, like this is all some fever dream between one experiment and the next.

Zack makes his way through Sector 7, noting the various shops and bars as he goes. When he makes it to Sector 6 his heart aches with nostalgia. It’s the same, but so very different. Of everything he’s come across, it’s one of the most jarring reminders that he was held captive for four years. Businesses have been exchanged or run down, different areas are thriving. Not improvement, exactly, just change.

On instinct he walks familiar routes when he shouldn’t be. He gets some looks, some whispering from those who think they recognize him but can’t be sure. 

In Sector 5 the feelings of nostalgia grow stronger, along with the beating of his heart. So close to his goal his fingers tremble with excitement.

He makes his way to the church, and has to take a moment to catch his breath before pushing the doors open. Inside is… familiar. A few spots are maybe in more disrepair than he remembers, but the flowers, they are definitely bountiful than before. They’re thriving and lovely and Aerith is nowhere in sight, which is strangely disappointing and relieving.

He takes a seat before the patch, enjoying the sight of them, their energy and familiarity. To the side, hidden partially behind a pew, are the remains of the cart he put together for Aerith several years ago. A wheel covered in dust sits not far from it. He wonders when it broke, and if Aerith has been waiting for him all this time.

Eventually, he doesn’t know when, the doors finally creak open again, and his heart jumps into his throat. Sharp, so sudden it’s like whiplash that leaves him unable to breath or turn his head to confirm what he already knows. 

Then, comes her voice, soft, hesitant, as if he’s a ghost summoned by wishful thinking. “Zack…?”

Something in that tone is heartbreaking to him, and it acts as a key, pushing him to his feet and he spins around to face her. She is… stunning. Older. Her face is youthful but less girlish than it was before. She might be a little taller, or maybe it’s simply the way she holds herself, shoulders set and jacket accentuating them. Her hair i slonger, held back with the pink ribbon he gave her so long ago, or one that resembles it. At her feet is a basket full of flowers, dropped from the shock of seeing him.

Looking at her, he wonders, distantly, if he looks any older or the same as he did five years ago to her.

Zack lifts his hand in greeting. His jaw is locked up but he forces it open. “Hey, Aerith,” and it sounds so good to say her name. The way her eyes light up even when his voice is this rough and uncertain puts him at ease.

In an instant she is rushing to him, throwing her arms around his neck to the point her feet leave the floor. He wraps his arms around her in turn, and for a while they simply remain like that, breathing in each other’s life, basking in their reunion, ignoring that it’s been five years filled with history that might change things between them.

Then, overcome with emotion, Zack sinks to his knees and presses his face to Aerith’s neck. Her arms find a more secure hold on him, curling her hands into his borrowed, ill-fitting clothes, and lets him sit like that for as long as he needs.

There are so many things to say. An innumerable and endless list. What happened, where he’s been, how long it’s taken to make it here to her, that he’s missed her, that he loves her. Instead what finally pushes past his teeth is, “I want, so desperately, to spend more time with you.”

The sound of her laugh is more broken than he’s ever heard it, more broken than it should ever be. She grips him tight, and then lets her hands drop to cradle his arms. “Me too.”

And spending more time together is exactly what they do. For the next month, until the Sector 1 Reactor is bombed by terrorists.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Perhaps against my better judgment I am going to continue this into a proper series/story/thing. There are a few things to note before proceeding.
> 
> 1\. I am a writer that focuses on character, relationships/dynamics, and how characters respond to/are impacted by their circumstances. That’s my thing. That’s the content you will find. The like… every other writing skill is not quite up to par. I have made the choice to try, though, and I guess we’ll find out what that amounts to.
> 
> 2\. FFVIIR. lmao yeah… uh. I am going to utilize aspects of it, but it’s on the basis of “does this benefit the experience I aim to convey” and “do I like this change/addition?” For the most part we will be following the story points of the original game with some of the world building details from FFVIIR. So some mix and match.
> 
> 3\. Speaking of lore, I will probably end up taking some liberties. Most of this pertaining to like, the events of Before Crisis, the Turks, how this entwines with events, other random minute details. Things in this series got silly and convoluted very fast and I can only keep so much straight.
> 
> 4\. This is going to be a series, to put less pressure on me and to just, like, have sensible arcs in a way and expand on things as I see fit. I have an outline for this part and some vague ideas of what I’d like to do moving forward. The number of chapters is an estimate; it might be a couple longer, depending.

Zack hadn’t really given much thought to what would happen after he made it to Midgar. There were things he knew, that he couldn’t stay with Aerith, that the Turks would be lurking behind every corner, and that ShinRa headquarters would be lying in wait above, its weight suspended but crushing all the same. He accepted these things. In a way, he was resigned to them and what they meant. If he could see Aerith at least one more time, though, it would be enough. If he could be given that one small wish, he would abide whatever came after, whatever it was.

Aerith has no such interest in being accommodating. To any of those. He can see the fire in her eyes glow with defiance the moment he suggests parting ways after mere hours together.

He doesn’t want to be inconsiderate of Elmyra, who was tolerant of him more than anything. While she warmed to him towards the end of their two years together, there was always an element of wariness that had more to do with his occupation than dating her daughter. He can only imagine what a five year absence will have done to sour her opinion of him.

Aerith won’t hear it, no matter how reasonable he thinks his stance is.

In the end, Zack doesn’t want to fight her on it, either.

He wants to stay with her, more than anything. Desperately. Like she is his lifeblood and everything he is will dissolve into the ether without her essence to give it form.

Her fingers entwine with his, pushing between them one by one to lock their destiny in place.

There is not a discussion to be had. They’re going home, simple as that. So that’s what they do.

Elmyra isn’t pleased but doesn’t voice her disapproval outright. It’s plain to see Aerith’s delight outshines all of Elmyra’s reservations about the situation. This includes allowing Zack stay indefinitely. There is, however, a catch. One that is not negotiable. They have an extra room and that extra room is where he will be staying. Indefinitely.

Zack has the grace to act a little sheepish in the face of her parental authority, but Aerith finds it more bemusing.

Later, when she sneaks into his room she says, “A girl can’t really be expected to keep her hands off her long lost boyfriend, can she?”

Zack is hard-pressed to disagree.

The sweet start to their reunion belies the underlying awkwardness that sprouts up like weeds in the ensuing weeks.

In his head, Zack last saw Aerith a year and some months ago. The reality is he saw her five years and some months ago. Four of those years are a blur. In the basement of the ShinRa manor, in a test tube polluted with mako and who knows what else, time did not exist. The moments where it did exist are a different kind of blur. Cognizance slowed to a nonexistent crawl, reverberating to a nauseating extent. Words spoken as if underwater, swallowed into nonsense; every movement happening in doubles, triples, rewinding and replaying until you wanted to return to the luxury of nothing, because maybe this time in the moments between you’d actually be capable of thought.

Aerith, on the other hand, has had an eventful five years.

An entire garden has grown around her house in his absence, curated and nurtured by Aerith’s careful hands. There are more types of flowers and plants than he can name, all sorts of colors and sizes, all thriving under her care. There’s even grass in abundance, so much that there’s now a stone path leading to her door and through the garden.

If there had been any denial from him about what year it is the sight would have dispelled it in an instant. He can remember the first time he saw her house, with nothing more than a few stray buds struggling to grow among the dried out ground. He can remember the last time, too, when a colorful pathway was starting to form and almost made the house look cut and pasted to a dusty lot.

Not anymore. In fact, Aerith seems to have become something of a celebrity in the sector. Whenever they go anywhere someone is greeting her by name, looking for her attention, asking her what her next project is going to be or what type of flowers she’s looking to grow next. Young and old, everyone knows her. Precious few recall Zack, and the ones that do need to be reminded why he seems so familiar.

They react with surprise, but don’t question or draw attention to his prolonged absence.

An orphanage has been built. Or rather, an orphanage has been rebuilt. Last time Zack was here it was little more than a rundown building that hadn’t housed anyone but squatters for the better part of a decade. The people running it and the children who live there adore Aerith, and that adoration in turn becomes excitement extended to Zack, who he is, what he does, where he’s been. That he’s with Aerith is all the affirmation they need.

At least Zack can spin his identity into something new, because he already decided who he’d be before making it to Midgar. 

A mercenary, traveling the world and whose last job went a little too haywire to make it home. But he’s home now, and not intending to go anywhere anytime soon.

Everything in the slums exemplifies that life goes on, no matter who you lose.

With Aerith vouching for him it’s not difficult to find work. A lot of it is handiwork and monster extermination, which doesn’t always pay the best but adds up when it’s not especially time consuming. In evenings he accompanies Aerith with the fixed cart to sell flowers in the other sectors. Every now and then he gets a delivery request that requires him to head to another sector, and every time he does he tries to keep an eye out for any hint of a spiky haired blond vagrant.

Is it too optimistic to suppose Cloud made it intact all the way to Midgar?

He could keep his head up on his own and speak last Zack saw him. Sure, it wasn’t the most elegant comprehension, but he understood that Zack was dying, and he understood Zack was imparting something significant to him. That doesn’t mean he was capable of making it to Midgar on his own, but…

It needs to have been for something, all of that. The past year, the past five years. There needs to be something beyond their remains picked over in the Midgar wasteland. For once in his life, let there be an ending that amounts to more than tragedy. Just this once.

The best he can do is choose to believe Cloud made it to Midgar and is recovering, maybe making the beginnings of some sort of life for himself. There are too many people across the sectors to have a hope of finding him. Even knowing he likely entered the city through Sector 5, Sector 6, or Sector 7, that leaves too many possibilities open, and most of them aren’t great.

So Zack puts his energy into the things in front of him, on putting together his own life. He works consistently, makes money, builds a rapport with the people of the slums who are happy to write off the mako glow in his eyes and accept him as part of their community. He is not a former SOLDIER, or a former employee of ShinRa. He’s simply Zack, Aerith’s boyfriend, and honestly it’s better than any other title he’s ever had.

It goes without saying things won’t and can’t remain this way, they never do. For all that he pretends this time might be different, he still cherishes the days as if they’re the last of their kind he’ll ever have. In return, those first two weeks start to feel like some of the most rewarding he’s ever had.

It happens when he’s on his way back from making a delivery to Sector 4. There’s a detour set up due to construction, and as a result, far more infantrymen than usual are stationed to ensure no one interferes with it. For most in the slums the ShinRa troops are a minor annoyance, but Zack can’t allow himself to become lax in the presence of ShinRa personnel. So he avoids the detour, taking a path lined with debris and stray monsters making their home therein.

The moment he left Sector 5 he suspected he was being watched, and while he took note of it, he ignored it for the most part. Pickpocketing isn’t the most uncommon thing in the slums and attempts have been made plenty of times. Turns out it’s really easy to underestimate the awareness of a seemingly unarmed man in plain clothes.

This time, though, it’s different. It’s in the way everything lines up just so. The job, the destination, the construction, the being watched that comes and goes but is never accompanied by someone getting too close at any point.t

So Zack treads off the beaten path of his impromptu detour, to an area with poorer lighting, a little more enclosed, cornering himself for his stalker.

He gives them a moment to reveal themselves, and when they don’t he sighs and calls out, “Alright, you can come out now. Look, I made a present of myself and everything.” He puts his arms out and moves from foot to foot, showcasing the lack of weapons.

Not that something like being unarmed counts for much, as the Turks damn well know.

“It sure took you guys long enough to make your move,” Zack says, and as he turns around he sees Tseng, of all people, standing in the opening of the passage.

He doesn’t know who he was expecting, but certainly not Tseng, who stands there, on his own, not saying anything.

Zack takes a breath and lifts his hand in greeting. “Hey, Tseng. You look… older. Long hair suits you.”

Five years is a long time. Somehow, in the face of countless reminders, he keeps forgetting. Tseng wasn’t even that young when Zack knew him, but there’s something sharper about his expression that makes it seem as if a decade has passed.

“Zack,” Tseng starts, only to seemingly discard the thought he was about to voice. He shakes his head. “I thought you were dead. I read the reports.”

“Yeah? What’d they say?”

“That they filled you full of holes and left the one you escaped with to die in the wastelands. Apparently that was a mistake.”

Zack breathes out roughly, feeling a sudden ache at the reminder. “Apparently. Are you here to take me back, Tseng?” 

He shifts his stance, sets his shoulders subtly. He doesn’t want to hurt Tseng but he will if he has to, if Tseng strikes first. It’ll only delay the inevitable, but every extra second he can steal with Aerith matters.

Tseng takes a moment, and then says, “While the army was sent to resolve the issue with excessive force, I mobilized the Turks to my own ends. I was looking for you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You misunderstand. I was not looking for Professor Hojo’s latest escaped samples. I was looking for Zack Fair. My friend. I have no intention of returning you to his custody. Then or now.”

“Then why are you here, Tseng?”

“I am the leader of the Turks. The influence that comes with the position is not insubstantial. We have handled many matters no one in the company ever hears of, including division heads.”

Zack sighs. “That doesn’t sound like turning a blind eye.”

“There are a number of covert compounds ShinRa owns around the world. One on the Western Continent not far from your hometown. Another is a day’s ride from Midgar, if that’s what you prefer. You will be provided for and I can guarantee Professor Hojo will never hear a whisper of it.”

“I can’t. I just made it back, I can’t.”

“I know. But I am imploring you to look beyond the present. I know you know the truth about Aerith.”

“What truth?”

“That she’s an Ancient. What do you think will happen when the company decides idly standing by is no longer an option?”

“I don’t know what that means. Why would they take her? But if they try, I’ll stop them. I’ll protect her.”

“Because going against the company and protecting others always worked out so well in the past, yes?”

Zack deflates at that.

Tseng closes the gap between them but keeps a mindful distance, outside of Zack’s range of physical attack. “This is the position you’ve put yourself in by returning here. When President Shinra sees you he will not care that you were SOLDIER 1st Class, or SOLDIER at all. He will not care that you fought in Wutai or about the classified missions you were part of. He will give you to Hojo. I can promise you that.”

“The only way out of SOLDIER is in a body bag or test tube, huh,” Zack says with a scoff.

“Perhaps. It would appear the SOLDIER experiment is coming to an end.”

Zack frowns, the word choice alone putting his hair on end, pushing his heart out of place. “What do you mean?”

“The division wasn’t large in the first place, and ever since Wutai the numbers have only declined. There was Genesis defecting and the mass desertion that followed. Angeal. Sephiroth. You. The esteemed 1st Classes that couldn’t be replaced.”

Zack tenses to steel himself against the oncoming wave of nausea those words summon. Now is really not the time to get overwhelmed from associations he’s already made.

He knew.

He knew for so long. Before Genesis. Before Sephiroth. Before Angeal even, not that he acknowledged it, or realized what it meant then.

Without exception, SOLDIERs are monsters. Some of them are born, and others made, but it’s all the same. Commodities cultivated with monstrous strength for ShinRa’s exclusive use. Right up until they’ve been used up or can no longer be controlled, then they’re disposed of.

He knows, and he’s not looking away.

Heedless of Zack’s reaction, Tseng continues, “They never bothered to find a replacement for Lazard either. I can’t remember the last time they promoted someone to 1st. Or rather, I can’t remember the last time they promoted someone who deserved it. The ones we do have are… lacking, to say the least. Compared to those who came before.”

“Did you know?” Zacks asks in a rush, without thinking. “About… Angeal, and them.”

Now, Tseng frowns, and his brow furrows with it. He thinks for a moment, trying to find what Zack is referring to but comes up blank. “Know about what?”

Zack shakes his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” 

It’s not even something he actually wants to know. He won’t even consider the chance Tseng just lied.

Tseng gives him a long look but lets it go. “In any case, think over what I’ve said. Protecting people doesn’t always have to mean throwing yourself head first into danger.”

“No, sometimes it means holding them in your custody until you decide it’s safe to come out, right?”

“I’m not going to force you, Zack. I would simply… find it regrettable. For you to fall into Hojo’s hands. I’m sure he won’t allow a second escape.”

“Yeah, that’d be real regrettable for you.”

“It is when I’m trying to prevent it.” Tseng sighs, but it’s tinged with undeniable fondness. “You remain a handful.”

“Sorry about that.”

Tseng shrugs lightly, and then he reaches into his suit. He pulls out a thin case and offers it to him. “This is for you as well. A late delivery. Don’t worry. It’s not bugged or anything.”

Zack eyes it warily before taking the container in hand. It’s light. There’s tape reading “SEALED” around the clear cover. Past that are dozens of unopened letters, stamped and addressed to him. His heart drops at Aerith’s familiar handwriting. He closes his fingers on the case firmly, as though it will slip through otherwise.

“I didn’t know what happened to you. I didn’t expect you to come back. But I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. It wasn’t my place.”

“Thank you, Tseng..”

“There’s eighty-eight of them. I’m sorry I couldn’t get them to you sooner.”

Words won’t come, so Zack just nods.

Tseng almost smiles at him. “There’s a timer here, but even I don’t know when it’ll be up. Focus, Zack, on what your life is worth to you, and I’ll be in touch.”

They part ways and as Zack makes his way back he decides he doesn’t feel too bad about the encounter.

To be honest, of all ways a confrontation with the Turks could have gone that was pretty much the best possible outcome. It’s an outcome he didn’t realize was possible, actually, and it leaves him breathless with relief.

It’s not as if Tseng is disobeying orders or being disloyal to ShinRa by not turning Zack in from the get go. That said, he is definitely toeing the line of treason here. If he were to write a report on what just occurred, the orders that’d come down as a result would inevitably be to bring Zack in. They both know that. All Tseng is doing is avoiding having to choose between the company and something else. As a Turk, he should excel in that.

Zack isn’t going to hold company loyalty against him. He gets it. He was a similar way, back when he was chasing after Angeal, thinking if he just said the right thing Angeal would come back and everything would return to normal.

When he gets back to Sector 5 he decides to call it an early day and heads home before the sun is close to setting. Neither Elmyra nor Aerith are home so he starts up dinner before taking the sealed case up to his room.

He just sits with it for a few minutes, dragging his finger around the edges, testing the tape with his fingernail. 

He wants to cut the tape off, remove the lid, and read every letter. He wants to line them all up to see how they differ in size, the different stamps, if the handwriting changed over time. He wants to feel the weight of each letter. He wants to commit their content to memory like it will close the distance between them.

He wants to read just one letter. It can be letter one, or letter eighty-eight, or letter thirty. They’re all the same in how deep they’ll cut, but through that pain he’ll know what was in Aerith’s heart at the time. It feels necessary.

At the same time, maybe some of these letters aren’t truly meant for him despite the address.

The eighty-ninth letter was the last, but was it the only last letter? Did there come a point where her writing was more for herself than him?

It was a long time to think he was still coming home.

In the end he can’t do it. The emotions are too raw, the pain too old, the happiness too recent and too precarious to risk. So he takes the case and places it in the bag he got to carry his things from job to job. For now, just carrying Aerith’s words with him will have to be enough.

Later that night, after everyone’s returned home and they’ve eaten, Zack asks if they can stay in, rather than go out to sell flowers.

Aerith gives him a curious look but is more than happy to have an evening alone together.

They go out to the garden, where it smells wonderfully fresh and floral. If he closes his eyes for long enough, memories of home flush out the less pleasant ones. They spread out a blanket that just barely fits the both of them and look up to the artificial stars together. It’s got nothing on the natural sky, the real constellations, the moon, but it’s beautiful in its own way. If he looks close enough he thinks he can see the steel, caging them as much as it shelters them.

Aerith’s arm brushes against his. “Did you have a good day today?”

Zack takes a breath that’s too deep. “It wasn’t bad, but I only had a few jobs.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“You know, it just makes it really difficult to save up money to buy my girlfriend a nice gift. She’s way overdue for one.”

Aerith hums. “Maybe your girlfriend is perfectly happy with spending time together.”

“Maybe.” He pauses, and then says, “There were so many things I wanted to do together. I wanted to take you out to the theatre up on the Plate and get dinner at one of those fancy restaurants after. We’d get all dressed up and stay out late and…” He sighs.

Aerith’s fingers reach for his wrist. They curl around it and her thumb brushes the underside. “We still can. If you want to.”

“Do you want to?”

“I’d love to. I’ve never seen a play before. And I haven’t forgotten your promise to sell flowers with me on the Plate either. I’m still waiting on that one.”

Zack laughs under his breath. “I have so many boyfriend duties to catch up on.”

“You do.” She leans over, pressing her forehead to his upper arm. “But we have plenty of time now, don’t we.”

He hopes so. Maybe it’s just that he’s in Midgar with ShinRa looming overhead, but he hasn’t felt all that at ease since he’s been in the city. There’s this persistent, unsettling feeling that something is amiss. Somewhere. Maybe it’s him who’s amiss. Not that it’s any better. The feeling is strongest when he and Aerith are apart, though, so he’s been chalking it up to very reasonable anxiety.

It’s just, what if it’s not anxiety? What if there is something?

“I talked to Tseng today,” Zack tells her. “Of the Turks.”

“Ah. So that’s what’s troubling you.”

“It’s not troubling me so much as it’s… uh. Troubling me. Do you know why they follow you around the way they do? I… Before, I didn’t realize it had anything to do with you. I thought it was coincidence at first, because I had work. Then, later, I thought it was me they were following. But it never had anything to do with me.”

“I’m sorry I never told you.”

“It’s fine. I mean, the Turks aren’t harming you or anything are they?”

Aerith sighs. “No. All they do is keep an eye on me. And every now and then make an offer to try and get me to come along with them.”

“But why? Before I left on… Before I left, one of the Turks told me you were an Ancient and the last of your kind, but she didn’t say what any of that meant.”

“I grew up there. In the ShinRa building up top. Until I was about seven. It wasn’t the best childhood. They didn’t let me outside, and I never saw any other kids. My mother gave her life so we could make it down here to the slums. I don’t really want to go back without a fight, after that. It doesn’t feel right.”

Zack swallows hard. “Yeah, I get that. But what do they want with you? Do you know?”

“I don’t know exactly, but whatever form it takes I can’t say I’m all that interested in helping.” Zack turns on his side so he can face her, and Aerith does the same. She says, “Your eyes are more beautiful than ever in the dark,” and leans in so close he thinks she’s going to kiss him.

For a moment he gets distracted by her lips, but he forces himself to concentrate. This is important. More important than anything else. “No matter what, I won’t let them take you. I promise.”

Aerith smiles at him like he’s said something silly in its earnest conviction. Then, she schools her face into something more solemn, and says with no less conviction, “I promise the same, former SOLDIER 1st Class Zack Fair. I will not allow anyone or anything to take you away from me.”

Then, she is kissing him, and it doesn’t feel like there’s any time between them at all.


	3. Chapter 3

When Aerith was seventeen her boyfriend disappeared. He missed one scheduled call and didn’t make it up. Then, he missed another, and another. About a week later it was announced he was killed in action, along with everyone else present on the mission. There wasn’t anything ShinRa had to say about the matter, other than that it was tragic. They didn’t say where it happened or how, or if there was to be an investigation. They simply reported and moved on, expecting the loved ones of those lost to do the same. As if they were as disposable to them as they were to the company they worked for. 

The issue was, however, that Zack was not dead. Or if he was, he hadn’t returned to the lifestream, which she’s not sure is possible.

After that announcement she’d make sure she went to the church every day, and when she was there she’d put her hands together and listen more intently than she ever had before.

His voice was never there.

She would fall asleep in the bed of flowers, with the misguided hope he’d appear in her dreams if she waited for him.

He did not come. Not once in five years.

There was only ever his lifeforce’s weakened ebb and flow, which was both omnipresent and scattered. Within the lifestream, but displaced from it in a way she could not identify. Whenever she called out to him the faithful answer was silence that was terrifying in its stillness. If she tried to gather the fractured wisps of him they slithered through her fingers as if they were no more than figments of her imagination.

She persisted.

Somewhere within the depths of that void was disoriented anguish, and time after time if she kept at it she would find it again without fail. That alone was enough to convince her he was alive. Somewhere on the planet he was breathing and in pain.

No one, not even the planet, could tell her where he was or what was happening.

All she could do was reach out her hand, hoping he would find her in that murky void. If only he could, if only by chance, then she would hold him tighter than she ever had, and pull him back into the light.

That never happened, and if she held out for too long something baleful and unidentifiable would push at the edges of her consciousness. Warning her away. Beckoning her closer.

Was Zack in its clutches? Or was that energy simply the gatekeeper to his location?

She doesn’t know, and she doesn’t know if Zack knows either.

All throughout this her neighbors gave their condolences, bought her flowers out of pity. They gifted her useful gardening tools and cute trinkets, like sentiment would make up for the loss of him when mostly they highlighted how little she had to remember him by. A pink ribbon she became distraught at the thought of wearing out, and then resigned to. An unremarkable broken down cart she couldn’t fix on her own. Some jewelry. More memories than anything else, and as the years wore on they felt less and less.

Her mom encouraged her to feel her emotions and not bottle them up, empathized with losing a loved one who was part of the military.

Except Zack wasn’t dead, and she didn’t know how to express that certainty without sounding in denial. She felt bad. Her mom reliving her own hurt for her sake, but it wasn’t the same. Zack was alive.

Though, she knew deep down there might have been no difference. Alive doesn’t mean okay. Alive doesn’t mean coming home.

When she confronted the Turks they gave her the ShinRa News article announcing his death, and she handed back an envelope addressed to him.

After the fifth letter she sent Tseng showed her the employee announcement, which differed little from the public one, like it would convince her.

It didn’t.

They refused to discuss him with her. Every agent remained steadfastly stone faced in the face of the topic, and dismissive no matter what outlandish theory she decided to voice. They let her go on and on. Until one day Tseng asked her if she would please not, and though his expression was aloof, there was genuine grief in his eyes. 

He was asking for himself. Not for her sake, or for ShinRa or anyone else. From there it started to sink in that despite everything, Zack may just be gone and never coming back.

Except, he did come back.

Now, Aerith is twenty-two, her boyfriend is alive at her side, and while vindicated, she still has no idea where he’s been for the last five years.

In a way that tends to be more eerie than reassuring, he is almost exactly as she remembers. He is tall, broad, consciously gentle. Everything about him radiates warm strength. Maybe he’s a little leaner than he was, but he still lifts her like she barely weighs a thing. Then there are his eyes, which are more radiant than she remembers. The blue-green glow is intense, mesmerizing in a way they weren’t before, but she can’t tell if there’s actually something different or if her memory failed to do their beauty justice.

Gone is the SOLDIER uniform she was so accustomed to. Instead he wears casual clothes that make him look thinner than he is and hide the muscles of his arms. It doesn’t make him look like an ordinary civilian. She’s not sure anything can. He walks with his back straight, shoulders set, and with confidence few can carry convincingly in the slums.

Looking at him, you wouldn’t suspect anything is off.

Talking with him you probably wouldn’t suspect it either, but Aerith knows him. Without meaning to, she picks up on the little things that aren’t quite in sync. He’s quieter, keeps his thoughts to himself more in a way that almost comes off guarded. For all his amiability and commitment to work, there’s a lack of immersion with the community, who even a month later see him more as Aerith’s boyfriend than as Zack.

Zack hasn’t gotten to know them. He keeps his work spread out, never working for the same person too many days in a row, regularly going outside of the sector. When his workday ends he comes right home, and only there, finding the quiet unsettling, does he fill the air with idle chatter that leads to nowhere but him in her arms, like they’re reuniting for the first time all over again.

His smiles come easy and true for her, but no one else. When he smiles, or laughs, it’s like he’s making the choice before the real thing lights up his face. Then, when the smile inevitably slips off his face but before the next expression settles, there’s a moment of aimless discontent as he peers into an infinity only he sees.

Always, part of him isn’t present. If you don’t keep his focus, that part will pull the rest of him away to she doesn’t know where.

Zack doesn’t admit it. Or acknowledge it. So neither does Aerith.

This means she also does not ask about where he’s been or what he’s been through or why it took so long. She does not ask anything, except if he’s okay, because right now that’s the most important thing.

Zack is not a person who thrives by keeping his hurt inside. He is not someone who wants to keep his hurt locked up inside himself. When he’s ready to tell her and has found the words he will. Until then, she’ll sit at his back and anchor him to himself.

They should have all the time in the world to work things out and find each other and heal. But they don’t.

The first sign is Tseng approaching Zack a couple weeks after they reunite. Giving them weeks instead of days or hours was a kindness, but Aerith can’t find it in herself to muster up any gratitude. She’d tell Tseng exactly what she thinks of him putting Zack in the same position she herself is in if he’d show himself, but the Turks watching her have kept out of sight ever since Zack returned.

The second sign comes when the Sector 1 Reactor is bombed. That, in itself, is not the sign, but on the night of the bombing she happened to be in Sector 8, selling flowers, and who did she run into but a SOLDIER on his way to the reactor. As he rushed through the busy streets, colliding into her, knocking her to the ground, it was like the past rushed forward to meet her. Seeing those black pants and bulky boots she expected to see Zack when she looked up, only to find a man impossible to mistake for him with his starburst blond hair and shorter stature.

It was the first time in five years she came across someone from SOLDIER, and her instinct wouldn’t allow her to write it off as coincidence, even as she engaged him in brief conversation and managed to sell him a single flower before he went running off.

When she made it home she found Zack pacing in his room, listening to the radio at a volume too low for an ordinary person to hear. The news didn’t know who was behind the attacks yet, but it didn’t stop them from speculating on which terrorist group with what motivation was responsible. There were casualties and damage from Sector 1, as well as Sectors 8 and 2, and reconstruction was already projected to take months and millions of gil.

Zack was more tense than he’d been the entire time he’d been back. There was nothing relaxed in his uniform steps or sharp rotations. When he saw her in the doorway, though, all that melted away with a sigh and she recognized him once again.

He approached her, touching her arms briefly before letting his own fall to the side as if his worry was silly and unfounded.

She told him about what she experienced, the chaos and destruction raining down into the slums, and about the SOLDIER. Only, Zack didn’t find it all that exceptional, especially with the bombing at the reactor. He said it probably wasn't anything for them to worry about. Off duty SOLDIERs in the slums aren't that uncommon in the first place, he said. So, she did her best to put the incident out of mind.

But. Would they send fellow SOLDIERs to track Zack down? People he knew and was friends with?

She didn’t want to ask, but it would make sense, wouldn’t it? SOLDIERs aren’t normal people. They give up a part of themselves and are given immense strength in return. They entrench themselves in violence.

And Zack… he was a 1st Class, the best of an already elite division. Of course another SOLDIER would have a better chance of subduing him than anyone else. Perhaps a former comrade would make him lower his guard in a way no one else could manage, too.

That's not something Zack is comfortable with discussing yet, though, so they leave it behind and life goes on. For a few days, anyway, because before the week it through Aerith is met with her third and final sign they don’t have time. So little time, in fact, that it’s maybe too late to do anything about it.

This sign comes crashing through the church’s ceiling, landing right in her flowerbed in a startling mess of nostalgia. Not only is it a person who’s fallen through the ceiling, but the very same SOLDIER she met before. He is unmistakable with his spiky blond hair and enormous sword, which is probably doing more harm to the flowers than his weight is.

It takes her only a moment to recover, though she has not at all grown accustomed to men making crash landings in front of her. She then leans carefully forward to make sure the man is breathing, which he should be right? As a member of SOLDIER falling through a ceiling shouldn’t be that damaging. Although…

She looks up and squints through the new hole above her. Where did he fall from? The most obvious answer is that he fell from the Plate or close to it, both of which are heights a normal person couldn’t fall from and live, let alone be intact.

The Sector 5 Reactor is somewhere in this area, right? That’s where Zack fell from when it was him. Maybe he was stationed there to guard it and fell. There doesn’t seem to be any falling debris or explosions in the distance, though, and his uniform isn’t any worse for wear. There’s not even any scrapes on him from breaking through a worn, wood roof.

The man before her stirs, catching her attention, but the movement is more of a twitch and his eyes don’t open. Aerith frowns and tilts her head as she looks him over more closely. Thinking about it, the other day wasn’t just the first time she saw another SOLDIER in five years, it was also the first time she’s seen another SOLDIER up close ever.

He doesn’t resemble Zack much. She supposes she assumed everyone in SOLDIER would to some extent, bulky, tall, intimidating through the knowledge that they’re a weapon first person second. This man isn’t any of those things. 

The man is boyish in a way that contrasts with Zack, whose own boyish qualities are highlighted by his personality. This man looks more on the verge of boyhood, like his features have matured but the rest of him hasn’t made it there yet. In sleep, his face appears younger than it did when they first crossed paths, but even forcibly unconscious there’s a slight furrow in his brows. SOLDIERs must have that in common.

Aerith reaches out and gives his exposed upper arm an experimental push. No reaction. He might be wiry but there’s definitely plenty of muscle there. She gives another, firmer push, trying to move him the tiniest bit, but he is just as immovable as Zack can be.

She’s not actually sure how she should proceed in this situation.

She can’t assume everything is fine with him and leave on her merry way. Can she? There doesn’t seem to be any broken bones, but he’s far more unresponsive than Zack was. She should at least make sure he wakes up and can move, right?

Maybe she should see if she can find the Turk on duty and tell whoever it is to take care of this. Really, when you think about it, ShinRa personnel falling from the sky is their business, not hers. Though, there isn’t any guarantee she’ll be able to find them right now. And it’s assuming this SOLDIER isn’t hunting for Zack. If that’s the case, maybe it’s better she handle this on her own, rather than get more ShinRa employees involved.

And what does handling it on her own even mean?

As she’s trying to figure that out the man groans softly, his lips parting, and he gently shakes his head as if he’s heard someone speak.

Maybe he has.

Aerith listens too, for a moment.

Then, she waves her hand in front of his face and greets him, asks him if he’s okay.

To, again, minimal response.

How long did it take for Zack to come to? She can’t remember anymore. It felt like forever, and then he was suddenly responding to her words but not to her.

Just when she’s starting to think maybe this is a little too out of her depth and she needs to get a hold of someone, whether it’s Zack, the Turks, or the local physician, the man finally rouses. His eyes slide open, calm, like he’s simply waking up. They find the hole directly above him, and then the walls of the church as his head lolls to the side. For all that they take in their surroundings there is a marked lack of awareness in them.

That initial movement is followed up by nothing. His eyes do not roam and his body does not twitch. He does not take inventory of himself, making sure he’s all present and functioning.

She remembers Zack thinking he was heaven, and being so quick to jump to his feet and flirt.

“...Maybe you’re not okay?” Aerith says. More to herself, but with some hope the man will register her words enough to reassure her that he’s not on death’s door. 

He zones in on her as he pushes himself up to his feet but doesn’t acknowledge her. Then, he registers his surroundings with the sort of wonder one might have if they didn’t expect to be alive. Or are perhaps wondering if they are alive in the first place.

Unlike when they met in Sector 8, he meets her eye, though it seems to be by accident because they smoothly slide away instantly, as if she’s simply in the way.

She gives him a few more moments to collect himself, and towards the end of them he goes, “Where…?” trailing off like he expects the answer to be plastered to the walls rather than given by the real person in front of him.

Maybe he doesn’t realize she’s actually there?

Aerith leans in close to put herself in his field of view, which startles him into action. First he pulls his upper body as far away as he can get it. Then, apparently deciding that’s not enough space, pushes himself to his feet. Not gracious enough to step off the flowers, though.

Aerith smiles anyway, pleasant. “Hello. This is a church in the Sector 5 slums. You fell right through the roof.” She indicates which hole in the ceiling is his and the man glances at it, nonplussed.

She places herself in front of him again, and his body shifts slightly away. “It and the flowerbed must have broken your fall. Pretty lucky.”

His brow furrows. After a beat he looks down, and tenses when he realizes he’s standing right on top of a few flowers, crushing them more than his body had. He startles back to the floorboards and mumbles out an apology. 

As she’s telling him not to worry about it he decides to take a good look at her, and clear recognition sparks. “You’re…”

She can see the roulette spinning behind those brilliant glowing eyes, and in her quickly mounting anxiety bursts out, “The flower girl.”

“Huh?”

Aerith can feel how forced her smile is but doesn’t let it fall. “From the other day. After the bombing in Sector 1. Maybe you don’t remember. You were pretty distracted, after all.”

“No. No, I do remember,” he asserts in a way that suggests he takes offense to the notion he doesn’t. “I bought a flower when you asked.”

“You did.” After an uncertain moment she pushes ahead and asks, as innocently curious as she can manage, “Were you on your way to the reactor?”

He frowns, confused, and Aerith frowns back. She gestures to his uniform, to the sword hilt over his shoulder. “You’re part of SOLDIER aren’t you?”

“ _Ex_ -SOLDIER,” he says. This, too, with some measure of offense despite his outfit and eyes and the strength his evident pride gives his tone.

“Oh? I haven’t heard of an _ex_ -SOLDIER before,” she comments with enough levity it might come off as mocking.

The man’s frown deepens, and it takes a few seconds longer than expected for him to answer. “We had some differences of opinion.”

What does that mean? She wants to ask but holds back as suspicion kicks up in the back of her mind. That’s awfully convenient, isn’t it. A former SOLDIER on the run. Something near unheard of. Not information you’d volunteer to every nosey civilian you cross paths with. To the majority who don’t know him or recall him, Zack is quick to excuse his eyes with an accidental dip in mako as a child that never happened.

Is this bait to lull them into a false sense of security?

Do factions outside the Turks engage in subterfuge like that?

It doesn’t matter if they can part ways here. He may not have any idea who she is.

Aerith meanders casually around the edge of the flowerbed, never putting her back to the man as she makes her way to the back end of the church. SOLDIERs are fast. Much faster than her. But Aerith knows this church. That might slow him down enough to let her get away.

The man watches her, follows her movements. He turns so his back will never be to her. He seems more confused than suspicious, but doesn’t ask what she’s plotting.

“So… You’re on the run, then?” Aerith asks, and it’s as much a test as it is a genuine question.

The man takes a breath, but then only gives a drawn out exhale, like he only realized just then that he doesn’t have an answer he can give. The crease between his brows deepens. Then, he flinches and his hand flings up and stops short of his temple.

“Hey, are you okay?” Aerith asks when he doesn’t recover, simply remaining as he is, fingers pointed to his head like a threat. She starts to extend an arm towards him but thinks better of it, remaining where she is with the flowerbed as a barrier between them.

The man takes a slow breath and releases it through clenched teeth, but when he’s finished his arm drops to his side. He turns right to her with a hand on his hip and answers her first question like what just happened is unremarkable. “I’m not on the run, but it goes without saying ShinRa doesn’t take kindly to defection.”

Aerith blinks, taking a moment to recall what her question was. “Why did you defect?”

The man narrows his eyes at her. He looks away when she tilts her head at him innocently. “You always such a busybody?”

“Nope,” Aerith answers brightly. “Only when strangers fall to their near death in front of me.”

The man glances up towards the hole and sighs, but before he has the opportunity to say anything the church door is pushed open and in walks the Turk assigned to her for the day. Odd. Especially with how it’s been recently. Plus, he’s accompanied by a handful of infantrymen. That’s never happened before. Ever.

She takes a small step back. Is it a good sign or a bad sign that it’s not Tseng?

Seeing that it’s a Turk who’s entered, which is definitely a greater threat than a flower girl, the stranger now turns his back to her. He even takes a subtle stance, knees bent and arms at the ready. Does he think Reno is here for him? Considering the infantrymen, maybe they are.

That theory is immediately disproven when Reno speaks. 

He completely ignores the man and says, “Yo, Aerith. Hate to be the one that’s gotta tell you, but it’s time to go.”

The man spares Aerith a quick puzzled look before focusing his attention back on Reno. He doesn’t move between them, but his foot shifts, ready to step between them if he needs to.

“What are you talking about?” Aerith asks.

Instead of answering her, Reno looks the stranger up and down. With a sly look at Aerith he says, “Don’t you already got a boyfriend? Or is he into that sorta thing.” He looks between the both of them, lingering on the man, and then shrugs. “Guess I can ask him myself when we get back.”

Aerith stiffens. “What do you mean, Reno?”

Reno smiles, and it’s not particularly kind. “I mean this status quo we’ve had has been nice and all, but it’s about to change. Whether you like it or not.”

Now that Reno’s gotten closer the man takes a step forward, into Reno’s path. His hand has gone to his sword hilt, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

“Got a type, huh, Aerith?” Reno draws out his rod and bounces it on his shoulder carelessly. He looks the man over, making it apparent he’s not too impressed with what he sees, though he does pause at the belt around his waist. “And who exactly are you? 

“A former SOLDIER.” He says it like it’s a warning.

Reno just sighs. “Man, they really do let you guys run rampant all over the place these days, don’t they. Come on, Aerith, how about you make this easy.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because we already have your boyfriend in our custody for starters.”

“That’s not true.”

Reno shrugs. “Believe me or don’t, doesn’t make much difference because either way you’re coming with me.” He makes a lazy motion with his free hand and the infantrymen with him begin moving.

The man pulls his sword in front of him now, and the soldiers hesitate for so long that Reno has to order them to continue. He takes a step closer. “You sure you wanna get involved here, SOLDIER boy? This is way beyond you.”

In a flash that seems to happen when Aerith blinks the man rushes forward. Suddenly his hefty sword is in front of him instead of on his back, and he’s swinging its immense weight at Reno, who seems to deflect the blow with relative ease. The next swing he dodges by stepping back, leaving mere centimeters between the blade and his suit.

“Alright, guess you do.” But Reno doesn’t seem put out at all.

The two of them fight, trading blows too fluid and fast for Aerith to track. She can’t tell which of them has the upperhand and very little blood has spilled. While the two of them go at it, the soldiers with Reno sidle around the edges, making their way over to her, closing in and leaving her with no escape but one.

Aerith takes a stumbling few steps back, trying to make it look in response to the fight.

Should she just leave?

It feels wrong to leave the stranger here, fighting Reno on her behalf when she didn’t even ask him to. He should be fine, but at the same time Reno seems to be keeping up with him.

If he really is on the run, what will happen if they overpower him?

Making up her mind, Aerith yells, “Hey!” and when the two pause to look at her, she throws the fallen off wheel from her cart at Reno’s head. Her aim isn’t quite there, though, it’s path ending up somewhere between them, but it’s enough to make the two split apart to give the projectile berth.

In that moment she takes two large steps forward, grabs the stranger by his wrist, and runs toward the back of the church. Thankfully he puts up no resistance. As soon as he catches on to what exactly she’s doing, he twists his arm free and keeps pace with her easily as she leads them up through the attic.

Everything passes in a blur until they’ve made it safely outside. Reno and his grunts yelling after them; the untested rafters straining under their weight, threatening them with a height that might be nothing for a SOLDIER but might kill or break the bones of an ordinary girl like her. She gets through it on adrenaline alone, she’s certain.

When they’ve made it outside the fresh air is sweet and she hunches over, hands on her knees as she gasps for breath. Running from the Turks like that may be the most exciting thing she’s ever done.

Once she’s regained her composure she finds the stranger giving her a sideways look that’s curious more than anything else. While she can’t be sure they’re on the same side in the long run, she feels fairly confident that at this moment they’re unified against the Turks. That’s good enough for her.

Aerith pushes a misplaced lock of hair back. “Considering all that I guess I should introduce myself. My name’s Aerith.” The stranger does not go to give his name in return, so she prompts him. “And your name is?”

“Cloud,” he says, and then adds what’s presumably his last name as if it’s an afterthought, or as if he expects her to recognize it. “Strife.”

Aerith does not recognize it. 

Cloud does not ask her if she does.

“Nice to meet you, though the circumstances really could be better. I doubt Reno will chase after us up here.”

She points out where the nearest subway is, and the two of them start making their way across the rooftops. Having never done this before Aerith is considerably slow, but Cloud doesn’t leave her behind. He even waits, keeping an eye on her for the riskier jumps and when they have to tightrope their way across pipes. As reassuring as it is, part of her wishes he would leave her behind.

About halfway through their journey Cloud comments, “First name basis with the Turks, huh.”

“We aren’t friendly,” Aerith tells him firmly. But then, “We aren’t unfriendly either, though.”

“And what do the Turks want with a flower girl from the slums?”

“Hm. I don’t know. I guess you’d have to ask them that.”

“He said they have your boyfriend. Your boyfriend do something to get on ShinRa’s bad side?”

“Why does it have to be something bad? Maybe they want to recruit us. Civilians can be the best spies, after all.”

“Uh-huh.” Cloud clearly doesn’t buy it but leaves the topic alone, which is kind. Or maybe he can tell she won’t give him more information than that.

She also just doesn’t really want to talk about it. Think about it. Could it be true that they have Zack? Did they fight? Is he hurt?

She should have tried to get more information from Reno, but she was so startled all she could think to do was deny it. 

She can see Zack giving himself up to prevent harm coming to anyone else and wants to cry.

Why? Just when he had found his way back to her. Why now?

She wants to call him, but neither of them have phones. While right now it feels imperative, a few weeks ago phones were an excessive expense. They saw each other every day, didn’t have strict schedules, and money was tight. Clearly getting Zack basic necessities to settle into life were more important. 

How were they supposed to anticipate that now, for the first time ever, the Turks would decide that Aerith’s compliance was no longer a requirement.

She feels foolish anyway, and like she’s put him at risk.

Today, Zack is working in the marketplace.

She just needs to ask around the establishments he usually gets work from to make sure he’s been around and if they’ve noticed anything suspicious. Reno approached her directly, without any care to the fact she wasn’t alone. The same could be for Zack.

Once she has that confirmation she can figure out her next course of action.

She wants desperately for that to be more reassuring than it is.

Then, a hand is securing itself to her wrist at the same moment her right foot goes to step in empty space. Aerith yelps and hastens to step back, colliding with Cloud who might as well be a brick wall he’s so sturdy. He steadies her by her upper arms and is quick to let go once she has her balance.

Aerith lets out a breath and peeks into the gap she almost stepped into. Not a drop that would have killed her, but possibly a broken leg. And a major inconvenience for Cloud to recover her.

“Watch your step,” Cloud tells her flatly.

Aerith laughs lightly, embarrassed and stressed. “Sorry about that. I was caught up in my thoughts. And I haven’t actually traveled by rooftop before.”

“Right.”

She’s not sure what to make of this man. He’s a little cold, but he’s not unkind.

Aerith jumps across the gap. They’re almost to the station. Once they make it to the next section of roof they’ll start making their way down. 

After Cloud joins her on the other side of the gap Aerith says, “Thank you. For just now and before. You didn’t have to help me with the Turks but you did.”

Her gratitude seems to embarrass him, and he walks ahead of her so he has a reason to not look at her. “Don’t thank me yet. I still might charge you.”

Aerith blinks and rushes to catch up with him. “What?”

“I’m a mercenary these days. Bad business to work for free.”

A mercenary? That’s… strange.

She pushes the doubt that creates aside. “Well, I don’t have much gil on me. Or saved up. What I can offer you, however, are some flowers. _Maybe_ a discount at the general store, if you need some supplies before you head back up to the Plate.”

Cloud makes a sound that might be a scoff. “Forget it. And I’m not going to the Plate.”

“No? That’s where you fell from, though, right? Where are you headed?” She asks, not actually expecting a response.

“The Sector 7 slums.”

She wonders if that’s true. It probably is, right, if he’s no longer with ShinRa. “In that case, how about I pay you with some insider information. A shortcut to Sector 7 from here.”

Cloud turns around and eyes the rooftops they just crossed, all the way back to the church. Then, he looks in her general direction rather than at her. “I think I’m good.” And continues on his way.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m very street smart. The roofs were a good idea.”

“Yeah, sure.”

They’re coming up on the station now. Considering Cloud’s situation, he likely won’t be taking the train. That means they’ll part ways on the oncoming path.

Unless...

Aerith sneaks a glance at him. Aside from the sword he doesn’t seem to have much on him. It’s a long way on foot to Sector 7. He won’t make it there before nightfall, but maybe that’s a non-issue to a former SOLDIER.

They pass the first split in the path that will take him towards Sector 6 together, with Aerith walking slightly ahead leading the way. As they approach the second split Aerith asks, “Are you leaving for Sector 7 right away?”

Cloud gives her a look that’s halfway suspicious, but then he answers, “Yeah.”

“Right now right away?”

“...Yes.”

“Do you need some directions?”

“No.”

Aerith frowns at him, and he seems to pick up that he gave himself away at some point, even looking back from where they came. “I can figure it out.”

“Are you sure? I can show you the way at least to Sector 6, shortcut and all.”

“I’m good.”

With that, he more or less rushes to make his exit, taking the next diverging path. Aerith watches after him, until she can barely make out the sword on his back and she’s confident he’s not going to turn around. Though he could still wind up at the marketplace, she doubts he will.

That’s one weight off her shoulders, but it’s barely noticeable with how heavy her concern for Zack is.

The first place she stops is the general store. There, she learns Zack stopped by in the morning to see if they had any new work for him. After that he went off to exterminate a group of monsters that were drifting too close to town. She manages to find a group of kids who saw him come back into the marketplace and head to the pharmacy, where he dropped off some herbs he’d collected for them.

From there she has no leads, but by all accounts it’s been a normal day lacking anything out of the ordinary. No one in suits hanging around, no one unrecognizable lurking on the outskirts watching, no one new asking questions, nothing.

As she goes around the marketplace she can’t find Zack, when usually it’s almost impossible to not run into each other if they’re both there. No one can give her a definitive answer of where she might find him or what job he’s currently doing or when he left.

She knows in her heart that he didn’t go home early.

She wants to cry but pushes the urge down.

There’s nothing more she can do here, so she heads home.

Even if they do have Zack they don’t have her, which means she has something to bargain with. All she has to do is wait. Because they will come for her.

When she gets home she collects a few gardening tools and carries on with her day. The hours wear on and Zack does not appear, but neither do any Turks or other ShinRa personnel. She wonders if they plan to kidnap her in her sleep. For once she thinks she wouldn’t mind it.

The last bits of fake sunlight fade and Aerith sets aside her tools. The flowers sway as a breeze passes through and she shivers, closes her eyes. She holds her breath as she listens, but as always, the answers she wants most aren’t there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever think about how the events in Midgar take place in, like, very quick succession?
> 
> It makes me feel a type of stress in regards to the pacing of this story, but I am choosing that over attempting to come up with filler content that will artificially space out events. No shade intended towards FFVIIR. I get it. But also maybe a little shade.

The Sector 1 Reactor is bombed and Zack tells himself it’s none of his business. Who attacks ShinRa and what ShinRa does in retaliation has nothing to do with him anymore. It is not his job to care. The moment ShinRa declared him dead and stuck him in a secret laboratory for a mad scientist to play with ensured that.

The bombing’s fallout is not his concern. More of the people he thought of as friends probably died in the intervening years than in a singular terrorist attack. SOLDIER doesn’t even get regularly assigned to guard reactors in the first place. What’s far more concerning is what the attack means for the people of Midgar, and by extension, for his life in hiding with Aerith.

An attack of this scale will up security around the city as a whole, not just the reactors, not just on the Plate. At least, he thinks it should. In all Zack’s time working for ShinRa he never experienced something like this, a direct attack on Midgar. Wutai favored more subtle tactics, and most of the terrorist organizations he’s familiar with tend to target ShinRa’s structure and chain of command, not the livelihood of Midgar’s citizens.

The threats he was involved with, including the ones from Genesis, were always able to be resolved without inciting mass panic and speculation. Now, that’s almost all there is. While the news spouts endless ShinRa sanctioned information, the people come up with their own theories of who’s behind the attack, why, and what will be targeted next. Because of course there will be a next target. They gossip as if it’s not their own lives and loved ones who will be in the crossfire. Maybe the slums are more insulated than he realized.

The Sector 5 Reactor being bombed mere days later demonstrates he’s half right. The conspiracy theories do not cease, if anything they become more frenzied as the community stresses over the pillar holding up the Plate above them and how much they’ll be affected by power outages, how long they’ll last and what ShinRa will do about them. Then, the news reports claim AVALANCHE is responsible for both attacks and the gossip becomes outright panic. Not that Zack can really blame them.

AVALANCHE, the eco-terrorist organization who wants to dismantle their very way of life and is fine throwing their ethics away to do so. They value the planet more than they value life. If tactics like this are what they’ve taken to, Zack can only imagine what they have in store going forward.

Maybe he and Aerith should get out of Midgar before things get worse. They can start over somewhere far away, where no one knows who they are or their histories. Within the depths of a deadly forest or a mountain’s peak surrounded by frost and glaciers, where none but the most determined and skilled could find them, and if someone did it’d be on their terms.

If they did leave, it’d have to be done discreetly. So the Turks wouldn’t catch on too soon. For the first months they’d have to be constantly on the move, but Zack’s already used to that.

Would Aerith be willing to leave her mother behind, though? Maybe Elmyra would want them to leave, if she knew it was for Aerith’s safety.

As it always seems to be, the future is full of uncertainty. It’s a discomforting thing, but not the only thing pushing Zack’s nerves to the edge. The source of his unease he can’t quite place, but it’s a near constant prickling under his skin that’s grown stronger with each passing day. Ever since he made it into Midgar. Or maybe he was too exhausted to notice it in the wastelands, because it demands his attention like it’s trying to turn his skin inside out with every step he takes.

The anxiety from the bombing and the constant chatter in the marketplace just makes it worse, that’s all. When he steps away from it all to get some space and air and silence he decides it was his instincts, because yet again Tseng has interrupted his work day. He wishes it was a surprise.

“This is getting old already, Tseng,” Zack tells him. “Is this going to be a weekly thing from now on? If so, I can see why Aerith can’t stand you guys.”

“I’m sorry, Zack, but the situation has changed.”

Zack bristles, but it’s so out of places he tries to disperse the energy by running a hand through his hand. “Oh yeah? And what change is that?”

“AVALANCHE. They’re acting more aggressive than they ever have in the past. The damage they’ve done will take billions of gil and months to repair. In a week’s time that’s what they’ve accomplished.”

“And how is ShinRa’s negligent security our problem?”

“I told you when we last spoke. The time for idly standing by has come to an end, courtesy of AVALANCHE. Direct orders from President Shinra.”

Zack breathes out and flexes his fingers. The leather presses against his joints and he tightens his fist more. “Just needed your long awaited excuse to actually carry out your orders, huh.”

Tseng’s jaw twitches. “This is my job, and I am trying to help you within the confines of that job. I understand that you are a package deal with Aerith. That’s why I’m here, rather than leave you to your own devices.”

“So I don’t storm headquarters and ruin your reputation?”

“To save your life, which is perhaps a futile and naive effort, but I would like to do so all the same.”

“And what does saving my life look like, Tseng? Aerith and I get to build a happy little life together under ShinRa supervision, locked up in their building?” Zack takes a breath to keep himself steady. “You already know they won’t let us go. Not her. Not me.”

Tseng shakes his head. “You can come with me now and be with Aerith, or you can leave Midgar. I can promise no one will find you if you do. These are the options you have left.”

“Meaning you’ve…?”

“Already sent an agent to retrieve Aerith, yes.”

Zack closes his eyes against the humming pressing at his skull. Why does this all have to happen right now? Maybe it’s him who’s being naive, but he doesn’t think Tseng is lying to him. He doesn’t think this is some contrived plot to get him into ShinRa’s hands. There’s no reason for that because he doesn’t matter. 

When it comes to outrunning a Turk the odds aren’t in Aerith’s favor. In fact, they might be nonexistent. That means she’s either at headquarters right now or is on her way there.

For Zack, breaking out will definitely be easier than breaking in. Especially if he and Aerith are put together or near each other. From there, it’s basically just a matter of charming their way out, which he’s more than capable of. No way company policies have changed that much in five years.

The real question here is, how much does Tseng really expect him to go along with this? What trump card does Tseng have up his sleeve to ensure their cooperation?

The humming moves from his temples to behind one of his eyes, persisting so intensely it’s as if a drill is making its way through his optic nerve. It’s focalized, and threatens, and he thinks he’s going to throw up. He shuts his eyes. Holds it until the hum deadens itself, and when he opens his eyes the world has righted itself. Like nothing happened.

Zack blinks. Then, he blinks again. The fractured light shadows Tseng so heavily it’s like everything has become grayscale out of nowhere. Moving from one act to another without any notice and did he miss something? Did Tseng say something just now? There’s a dark line slanted over part of his face and his neck that’s too dark to be a shadow.

“I can’t trust you,” Zack says, and nearly has to push out the words, breathless.

“I know. I’m not asking you to.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m telling you how it is. What you do with the information is your choice.”

“There aren’t any choices, Tseng.”

“I know,” he says it strained, with pity, and Zack doesn’t know how he got to a place where he somehow Tseng feels like his closest friend.

He guesses it might be because all the others are dead. Or if they’re not, they think it’s him who’s dead so it might as well be the same thing. 

How in the world did his life turn out this way? A distant, bittersweet whisper from the depths of his heart calls out that it’s all Angeal’s fault. If he had never chosen to mentor him, then… 

It’d make no difference in the end, because SOLDIERs are monsters with or without him. Zack was already deep within that den when Angeal took him under his wing. If given the opportunity to choose, he would not choose ignorance to the truths that make up ShinRa, and by extension SOLDIER. That includes the present; he doesn’t want to turn his head away and pretend not to see. He wants to understand, but the pieces he has won’t fit together in any intelligible way.

Suddenly, there’s a lump in his throat and he has to swallow. “Say I go with you. What happens next?”

Tseng’s shoulders subtly relax. He takes a breath and his arms go behind his back to adopt a more formal posture. They’re back on track. “We return to headquarters, where we’ll wait for my agent to return with Aerith. After that we’ll discuss what’s to come.”

“You’re making this up as you go along, aren’t you.”

Tseng gives him a long look, and right when Zack thinks he’s not going to bother answering he says, “I’m working on very short notice, Zack.”

The truth is nothing will work here. Five years is plenty of time to scrub him from memory and record, if that’s what they’ve done, but during his time as a ShinRa employee, Zack was more of a social tornado than a social butterfly. There are people who will recognize him at every level and within every division. Thinking he’ll be incognito for longer than a few days is not just wishful thinking, it’s unrealistic fantasy.

They walk out of Sector 5 and through the derelict remnants of Sector 6, past abandoned construction and debris. A little farther and they’ll end up at the playground he and Aerith used to frequent for dates. Only then does he realize they haven’t been there since he’s been back. He wonders why. They used to enjoy the illusion of seclusion and the quiet. Maybe it, too, has been overrun with so many monsters it can no longer be enjoyed. Or maybe they haven’t figured out how to be around one another without an easy escape available.

Tseng leads them to a flat area that’s barren except for the helicopter waiting at the center. The Turk piloting it isn’t someone he knows. Most likely they aren’t someone who’d recognize him, either. The pilot gives Tseng a short welcome back and ignores Zack to the best of their ability, gaze fixed ahead even when Zack’s weight is added to the craft.

Zack and Tseng sit on opposite sides of the helicopter, mirroring each other with crossed arms. Despite the circumstances and whatever’s about to come, Tseng seems totally at ease. Then again, a perfectly composed front and self-control is exactly why he’s a Turk isn’t it.

Though, acting on his emotions is exactly what he’s doing right now.

Something in that is validating, but it’s also too sobering for Zack to linger on for long.

They’re brought up to the Plate, near headquarters but not too close, a typical landing spot for the Turks, he assumes. They take an out of the way entrance that doesn’t have anyone stationed neared it. Then, they descend to one of the basement levels, which isn’t the most comforting thing but Hojo’s laboratories are some sixty floors above them. At least, the laboratories everyone knows about are. There could be some secret labs surrounding them, or beneath them, or interspersed through the floors. Zack has to let his head fill with static to stop the train of paranoia in its track.

Tseng brings them to some sort of conference room, where he takes a seat at a large desk and gets to work doing… something. Zack can’t tell what but it involves paperwork and a pen. Maybe he’s sifting through company policy for loopholes that will let him do as he likes without it being treason. Meanwhile, Zack drops on the leather couch and watches him for lack of anything better to do. At least until that gets boring.

The room is pretty dreary, all things considered. Not the best lighting, painfully neutral at every angle. A single painting would do wonders to brighten the room, he thinks. Or some flowers. Or, you know, some more lights, bring in a lamp or two. A basement doesn’t have to be dark and foreboding and full of secrets.

Zack gives it another ten minutes. “Sooo… you weren’t lying to me earlier, right, Tseng?”

Tseng looks over at him but says nothing.

“There was an implication I’d be seeing Aerith when we arrived. You don’t expect me to take your word for it that she’s here, right?”

Tseng sighs and gives him a look like he wasn’t supposed to bring that up. Continuing to look right at him he picks up the phone, presses a few buttons, and holds it to his ear. After several seconds he says, terse, “Where are you?”

He’s quiet for a long time as the Turk on the other end presumably explains. Tseng’s expression gives away nothing as to what that explanation may be, but there are only so many possibilities. Did Tseng send a newbie thinking retrieving Aerith would be no trouble at all?

Though, really, even a newly initiated Turk should be able to retrieve a civilian with minimal trouble. No matter what they told her or if she made a run for it. 

Tseng hangs up the phone with a barely perceptible sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose in clear annoyance.

“Things not go according to plan, Tseng?” He doesn’t bother hiding the amusement he feels.

“An unexpected obstacle, but not one I can’t work around.”

Zack stretches out his legs. “Aerith’s not coming, I take it?”

Tseng’s answer is a sigh.

“In that case, I don’t really have a reason to stick around, do I.”

Zack pushes himself up and stretches his arms, content to take his time. Tseng doesn’t have the means to keep him here, especially not without revealing his own duplicity.

“That’s not quite the case.”

Zack tilts his head as he thinks about that, and comes up empty. Aerith’s not here. She is not on her way here. There’s not really anything outside of her that can compel him to stay.

With some satisfaction Tseng says, “Don’t you think it’s an interesting coincidence that you return to Midgar, and then shortly thereafter not one, but two reactors are bombed.”

“You don’t seriously think I had anything to do with that, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

Zack frowns and pivots a foot toward the door. Tseng isn’t seriously thinking of arresting him as a suspect is he?

Reading his thoughts, Tseng holds up a hand. “Nothing like that. But you didn’t escape from Professor Hojo’s lab alone. Did you?”

Zack narrows his eyes. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“No?”

“No,” Zack asserts, taking a step towards the desk where Tseng still sits.

“In a position like his, it’d be more surprising to not hold a grudge against ShinRa. Wouldn’t you think so? From what I understand, Sephiroth set the entire town ablaze, murdered his family and friends. Then what happens? Rather than accept culpability or acknowledge any incident occurred, ShinRa took all survivors and handed them over to Professor Hojo.”

“That’s not—” Zack cuts himself off to compose himself, gather his thoughts. He takes a breath. He is not going to discuss Nibelheim or Hojo with Tseng. He is not going to allow Tseng to take the conversation there. “Cloud is in no condition to join up with a terrorist organization. Cissnei saw him, ask her.”

“I have. That was months ago, Zack.”

Zack almost rolls his eyes. “And I was with him what, two months ago, three? He was unresponsive. When he did speak, it was incoherent phrases and words. He couldn’t walk on his own or hold his head up for longer than a few seconds. After nearly a year that’s where he was.”

Except in those last moments together, where he was staring right at Zack with more understanding than he had in a year, repeating his words slowly, desperate to absorb their meaning and how they applied to him. Except for when Zack dropped the Buster Sword’s hilt into his waiting hands and Cloud caught it, held its weight, even if it wasn’t with ease.

Except for then.

But it doesn’t mean Cloud joined a terrorist group.

Tseng looks at him, and then he looks to the screen on the desk and types some things out. “I am not presenting you a theory, but facts.”

The wall behind him, which apparently contains a screen, flashes and its center is replaced with a pixelated display that gains clarity after a few moments. It seems to be a factory of some kind, probably a reactor. There’s a vent that seems to be the focal point of the image and Zack crosses his arms as he waits.

It takes less than a minute for the cover to be popped out from someone inside the vent and set aside. He watches, already knowing, and feels profound sadness when he sees Cloud crawl out, Buster Sword and all. Following that is shock, because after him, out of the vent comes a woman who’s a spitting image of Tifa the tour guide from Nibelheim. After the two of them is a large man with a gun for a forearm that Zack doesn’t recognize.

Zack watches them look around the part of the reactor they’ve found themselves in before moving out of the camera’s field of view.

Cloud is walking and conversing like he’s never been better. Even the way he holds himself is more confident than Zack can ever remember seeing him. He carries the Buster Sword’s weight on his back like he’s known it for years.

“This footage is from several hours ago. From inside the Sector 5 Reactor, in case that wasn’t clear enough. That is former ShinRa infantryman Cloud Strife, isn’t it? And the sword he carries is the same one Angeal Hewley passed on to you, Zack Fair, correct?”

“Stop that.”

With the press of a button Tseng makes the screen darken to blend in with the wall. He laces his fingers together in front of him. “Unfortunate when someone you care about has fallen in with a bad crowd. At least, I assume you care since you did drag his catatonic body across two continents. Or was that out of a misplaced sense of obligation? Maybe because it’s what a hero would have done.”

Zack scoffs but can’t help smiling at his own predictability. “Get on with it.”

Tseng gestures with his hand. “Moves to handle the AVALANCHE situation have already been put in motion. President Shinra has left overseeing the operation in my hands. Now, your friend is clearly not the leader of this cell or these attacks. Since this is the case, I can ensure he slips through the cracks and ends up living a very comfortable life somewhere far from Midgar.”

“Where you’ll keep him on a very long, invisible leash, right?”

“Those who oppose ShinRa aren’t generally known for their willingness to compromise.”

“What about the others?”

“They’ll be dealt with in the way President Shinra has decided. Why, do you know them as well? Not the best pattern you’re developing, Zack.”

“I’d say ShinRa and cover ups is a worse pattern.”

Tseng smiles a little. “It might be, but unlike yours, ShinRa’s are not out in the open. I’d say it’s in your best interest Cloud not fall into ShinRa custody.”

“Doesn’t that go for you, too?”

“Not in particular, because it implies you’re not in my custody either.”

“So. Now, it’s I be your bait for Aerith, and in return you’ll get Cloud of this.” Zack sighs. “Why don’t I ever get any choices?”

Tseng is silent, and then he says, sympathetic, “Maybe that’s what being a hero is. Dreams and reality don’t always overlap in the ways we want.”

It’s not like Zack has to do it. He can walk out right now, go home to Aerith, then work out what they want to do together, whether that’s facing ShinRa or fleeing Midgar. That might be the correct course of action. Staying here means he’s putting Aerith at risk. That’s where his priority should be.

And yet… 

It’s more difficult than it should be for him to parse, but he doesn’t feel like he can leave Cloud behind to whatever fate ShinRa may have in store for him. It’s not a matter of morality. Or about what Zack personally wants. Simply, when he weighs the possibilities out in his head, it’s as if there’s a magnet wrenching Cloud to the ground, making it impossible for anything else to contest him.

He can’t make sense of it. He doesn’t try to. Because when he does, guilt bubbles at the back of his mind like sizzling mako slowly crystalizing. The sound of it is a language he instinctively knows but doesn’t recognize and can’t understand, yet for some reason that’s okay. He goes along with it in the absence of any judgment of at all.

That’s more or less how he finds himself staying the night at ShinRa headquarters. 

Tseng finds him an empty room that doesn’t have a bed but the couch is large and comfortable enough. Doesn’t get him a blanket or any other amenities, Zack has to make do with the few square pillows already there. It’s a room just as drab as the other, and the door isn’t locked when Tseng leaves him.

Being in this room, being in this building at all, it’s not nostalgic in the least, and not just because he’s not familiar with the basement levels.

Sleep is elusive all through the night. There’s a vibration in the walls that can be seen, not heard, and it makes him question how good his eyesight actually is. It makes him question whether something is causing it or it’s all in his head. Either way sleep is impossible, because the sight impresses itself on his eyes whenever he closes them. 

The room is windowless and doesn’t have a clock, so it’s impossible to track his sleep or how much time passes. However, this building wasn’t designed with SOLDIERs heightened senses in mind. If he focuses he can hear groups of people making their way into the building, through the halls near him, ready to start their work day.

Tseng didn’t have the decency to leave him something to occupy himself with, either. There’s no television, no computer, no magazines, no phone. If he didn’t know better he’d think this room was a cell instead of the waiting room it seems to be. There’s even an attached bathroom, making the room’s intended purpose even more unclear.

With nothing to do, his only option is to worry over everything and try to get more sleep. It’s not until sometime after noon—by his estimation, anyway—that Tseng finally stops by. He drops a nondescript bag beside him that contains some food from the cafeteria and a few packages from the shop in the lobby.

“Nice of you to not leave me to starve.”

“Nice of you to not recklessly wander the premises.”

“Hey, I do have some sense of self-preservation.” Zack reaches into the bag and takes a wrapped protein bar. “Anyway, what’s the plan for today, boss?”

“Don’t call me that. I’m here to brief you on the plan for tonight. AVALANCHE will be dropping the Sector 7 Plate.”

Zack nearly crushes the bar in his hand. “What?”

“The Sector 7 slums are where this particular faction of AVALANCHE operatives have made their base. To protect themselves, they’re going to wipe out the entire slums.”

“Since you know this, can’t ShinRa stop them before that happens?”

“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. The Sector 7 slums are too vast to scour and we haven’t been able to pinpoint their location. Right now, the best we can do is intercept them at the pillar.”

“That’s cutting it pretty close. You guys are at least evacuating, right?”

“We can’t afford to let AVALANCHE know we’re coming. And the reality is Midgar has neither the space nor resources to manage millions of refugees.”

Zack sighs. “If this is leading up to asking me to go to the pillar…”

As much as Zack doesn’t want millions of peoples’ lives in jeopardy, he cannot afford to get entangled with ShinRa in that way. It’s one thing to be hidden away in headquarters with someone he’s fairly certain is on his side. Going to a ShinRa operation full of ShinRa soldiers to kill ShinRa’s enemies is not on the table. It’s not negotiable. He won’t do it. The most he’s willing to do here is work on discreetly getting out as many from Sector 7 as he can.

“Not quite. We anticipate the leader of this group to carry out the attack personally, bringing Cloud with him. When they make it to the top of the pillar, I’d like for you to appeal to him.”

“Um. Are you going to air drop me in?”

“Each pillar has a console at its top. This console measures not just the pillar stability, but the stability of the Plate as a whole. Often, when work is done orders are given through the console by someone here at headquarters.”

“Okay, so your plan is that I convince Cloud to turn on his terrorist friends. What good is that?”

“More or less. He deals with them there, and then my agents will pick him up. Who knows, maybe President Shinra will be so grateful we won’t need to bother with slipping him through the cracks.”

“Even if I can convince him, I don’t think Cloud is going to be enough to turn the tide of battle.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Reno had a run in with your friend. According to him, his abilities were not in line with what’s expected of an infantryman. His eyes were doused in mako as well.” Tseng pauses, and then says, “I am not going to make assumptions about the past five years of your life, but you may want to consider the possibility your experience was not a shared one.”

“If that’s what you think, how do you expect me to convince him of anything?”

“Because trauma bonds people in ways nothing else can. If it’s coming from you, he may see reason.”

“And if not?”

“You can’t save people when they choose self-destruction with their own free will. We’re simply letting him know there is another choice. Maybe let him know what AVALANCHE does with SOLDIERs they get their hands on.”

Zack runs a hand through his hair. He hates all of this. Why, when he runs into trouble, does it always have to turn out so complicated?

In his silence, Tseng says, “Knowing that you tried is good enough. Whatever happens, I will keep my word to you.”

That’s the best Zack is going to get, isn’t it. There’s not even reassurance in trying. When has trying ever been enough? It’s always falling just short, and ending up worse than if he’d left it alone. He knows that. Yet somehow, every time, he can’t help himself, like this once might be the time he finally makes a difference.

“Fine. What happens after that? If that doesn’t work out, and I haven’t lured Aerith to you by then, I’m not going to stick around and wait until she does take the bait.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“And I’m guessing you aren’t going to tell me what that means?”

Tseng inclines his head in acknowledgment and Zack sighs. Of course. 

The attack is happening in the dead of night. So while there’s hours for ShinRa to prepare, there’s also hours for Zack to wait and dwell on what he should say. He has no idea what could do the trick. What would make Cloud turn on Tifa, who’s probably one of the few surviving people from his hometown? Isn’t that too much to ask, even if the side she’s on consists of people who will strip him of his identity and freedom if given the chance.

Does he already know, and think it’s a worthwhile risk compared to ShinRa and Hojo? And speaking of, does he remember much of their time in Hojo’s lab?

Maybe Zack could justify it, too, if he hadn’t lost friends to the inhumanity AVALANCHE deems necessary to save the planet.

He can’t imagine Cloud being okay with killing millions of innocent people. They live in Midgar, and lots of people who live in Midgar work directly for ShinRa in some capacity, but not all of them do. Even if they do work for ShinRa, that doesn’t mean they’re bad people or that they deserve to die or have their homes destroyed. A lot of them don’t know. Most of them probably don’t. Zack didn’t know for years. Cloud didn’t know. Maybe the sudden, rude awakening is the worse way to find out, rather than slow disillusionment.

Zack has a lot of good memories from his time in ShinRa and with the people he met there, including Sephiroth, Genesis, and Tseng. The majority of his adolescence was spent under ShinRa’s charge, and it’s difficult for him to conceptualize the reality of the upper management and division heads with the culture the actual employees cultivated. Inside him, there’s remorse and a lack thereof twisted together too finely to be peeled apart or distinguished.

He doesn’t know how much of that Cloud has, if any. Maybe all he feels toward ShinRa is resentment and anger, and if he does Zack can’t fault him for it. Neither can he fault Tifa if she shares in those feelings and enriches them.

Night comes without any excitement, and when the night wears on Tseng finally collects him and brings him to another room. This room is larger than the previous one and has a monitor, as well as a control panel full of buttons and knobs. Zack has no idea what it is or what it does. Displayed on the monitor is the top of the pillar in Sector 7. Both AVALANCHE and ShinRa are absent, but there are some helicopters in the background monitoring the perimeter.

Tseng catches him up on the situation. Currently, their soldiers stationed at the pillar have been near overrun. AVALANCHE managed to recruit slum locals to bolster their efforts in a move they were unable to anticipate the breadth of. Bombs have been planted at various levels leading up to the pillar’s top. Several of these bombs have been located so far but not all, and they likely don’t have enough firepower to take down the pillar on their own. So AVALANCHE is aiming to access the console at the top, where Turks are prepared to confront them. 

An update comes through from Tseng’s earpiece and he turns the screen off, but moments after the sound of the helicopter shooting comes through louder than it had before. He can make out the muffled sounds of shouted conversations, followed by battle. From sound alone it’s impossible to tell who is favored, but it doesn’t take long to find out. In the midst of bullets the computer announces that Plate separation has commenced, and to evacuate immediately.

Zack looks to Tseng, who keeps his attention on the screen as it switches back over to the live feed. Right in front of the console is Cloud, Tifa, and the same man who was with them inside of the reactor. Looking at them, Zack is hit with a sinking sensation in his gut. He knew it’d be them, but maybe part of him couldn’t believe it until he saw it live.

The trio focuses on Tseng primarily, with Zack’s presence not meriting much notice. At first, anyway. Tifa looks, and then does a double take when she realizes she knows him and flinches. Emotion fills her face, and though he can’t see, he can tell she clenches her fist from how tense her shoulders become.

Cloud, on the other hand, doesn’t spare him a single glance.

“AVALANCHE, good evening. I see you’ve found success in your plan.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” the man Zack doesn’t know says.

“Your intention to crush the slums, of course.”

The man sputters in response, his eyes widening. “That’s _your_ lot’s plan, and we’re gonna stop it.”

Zack looks at Tseng again but is ignored.

“Just because ShinRa does not cater to the slums does not mean we are crushing them. Unlike what depriving them of mako will do. But we have limited time and I’m not here for you. Cloud, I believe you know this man?”

Cloud takes long enough to react to that Zack thinks there may be some sort of delay in the transmission. Then, he turns his head and looks directly at Zack, frowning deeply. “Never seen this guy in my life,” he says, and it’s not a bluff. The steadiness of his voice, the flat, unaffected look in his eyes; it’s as if Zack is an actual stranger, not someone he blames for what happened in Nibelheim.

Clearly this isn’t something Tseng was anticipating, because it takes him longer to respond than it should. “Are you sure? Because he has some information and a proposition that might interest you.”

“Don’t care and not interested.”

Zack blinks, surprised. That doesn’t sound like the Cloud he knew. Then again, he wouldn’t expect Cloud as he knew him to join a terrorist group either.

The other man cuts in saying, “Who is this guy and who cares? Tell us how to stop the damn Plate from falling.”

“If you’re having second thoughts about your choices it’s too little too late. I’d suggest vacating the pillar immediately if you want a chance at survival,” Tseng says, clipped, and closes the connection.

Zack turns to face him, and Tseng meets his look. “So. You didn’t tell me it’s you dropping the Plate because why?”

“Are you taking a terrorist’s word over mine?”

“Your word isn’t your word.”

“President Shinra is dropping the Plate.”

“Right.”

One of Tseng’s eyebrows rises slightly. “You aren’t going to moralize at me, are you? You, a SOLDIER who participated in the Wutai War. In fact, it was in Wutai where you earned renown and proved yourself worthy of a promotion to 1st Class, was it not?”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“You’re right, it’s not. But it’s also not any better. In some ways it’s worse. However, I won’t fault you for doing your job. I’d appreciate you extending the same courtesy. With or without me, this was happening.”

“Right,” Zack says, tight, feeling a little dazed. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“I told you the narrative President Shinra has decided on. As far as the public is concerned, that is the truth. AVALANCHE lacks the goodwill and means to contest it, so it’ll become the truth. You aren’t a ShinRa employee, Zack.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“Are you certain?”

Zack rubs his forehead. “Yeah, actually, I am.” He takes a deep breath and holds it. Breathes out slowly. “I’m leaving here. Tonight. Unless you have a compelling reason for me to stay, Tseng?”

“Not currently. But it may be in your best interest. I meant what I told you about Aerith. Are you confident you can outrun us?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“I suppose so.” Tseng extends his hand. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your friend.”

Zack takes his hand and holds it more firmly than he means to. “Yeah, me too.”


	5. Chapter 5

The first night Zack doesn’t come home Aerith sleeps uneasily. Every stray monster howl and creak from the wind sharpens her senses, as though any one of them may be the long awaited prelude to his return home. None of them are, of course. Just like they never were before. Knowing he’s likely within reach may be worse than having no idea what’s happened, actually.

After a fitful few hours of sleep Aerith switches from her bedroom to Zack’s, which has yet to develop much personality in the months it’s been his. The room isn’t barren, but Zack’s few belongings aren’t scattered about. They’re grouped together and orderly like this is a temporary space. Even his bed looks unslept in. At a glance, the room doesn’t speak to his presence, and now that she’s thinking about it she supposes that’s intentional.

The window is open, letting in a soft breeze and a faint nature scent, as well as the stale must that clings to the slum’s air. When she drops into the bed it’s cool enough to send a chill through her. The familiar soap they use to wash all their linens overpowers anything Zack might have left behind. Nothing in this room, including his possessions, is recognizably Zack. Almost nothing is anymore, but she knows them when she’s lucky enough to encounter them.

She crosses her arms under the pillow and burrows her face half into it, looks out to the horizon. In the distance, farther than she can make out, is the architecture that makes up their sky and keeps the Plate cradled over them. She and Zack still haven’t made the journey up to see the sky together. Maybe they should have carved time out for it. What if there won’t be anytime left?

She wants to see the true stars and clouds and moon together with him or not at all.

Zack isn’t home in the morning, either, leaving Aerith to rush over an explanation for his absence before fleeing.

There’s no sign or call from him throughout the day. More worryingly, there’s also no signs of the Turks. She checks all the usual spots, including the spots they like to think she doesn’t know about, but there’s nothing.

It’s then that she realizes she doesn’t actually have a way to contact them. Apparently they aren’t counting on her cooperation. She supposes she could call the ShinRa building and they’d figure out it was her sooner or later, but it’s not a plan she favors.

The day itself passes unremarkably, quiet and ordinary. Aerith doesn’t like that much, either. Everyone goes about their business like normal, including her. First checking in at the market, and then to the church. As the day goes on she finds that’s something she’s not interested in. She wants to feel Zack’s absence, even if it hurts, even if it’s accompanied by restless guilt.

She returns home after her mom’s gone to bed so she won’t have to come up with more excuses for why Zack hasn’t come back.

That night she phases in and out of sleep, never fully unconscious, never dreaming, but not awake and thinking, either. Not until sometime in the dead of night, when concentrated _feeling_ rushes through her and leaves her gasping into the pillow. There’s too much to process. Hundreds and thousands of harmonies layer on top of each other, reducing the beauty of life to a cacophony Aerith can’t help attempting to muffle by tugging the pillow over her ears.

After several minutes the noise calms but doesn’t stop. Memories and emotions continue dancing across her skin to leave her hair on end, but it’s far more manageable than it was. With a heavy breath and shaky arms, Aerith pushes herself up. She drops a foot to the floor and finds stability in the chill of the wood. Through the window the skyline is deceptively calm.

The house is intact, as is the garden. There’s no smoke or sparks rising into the air, or screams in the distance. Her mom sleeps undisturbed in her room and Zack still has not returned to her.

Still, she knows.

So, Aerith dresses and leaves the house. She goes down the path, which is also perfectly intact, until she’s in the neighborhood proper. That’s where she finds evidence of the disturbance. 

There are dozens of people grouped under lights and around fire barrels, discussing whatever’s happened. One large group is around a storefront’s television, while most others have formed around radios. In all cases they talk over whatever news is given, apparently deeming it false or old.

She moves from one group to another, hedging around them, never getting close enough to insert herself but picking up what she can. Another bombing. This one in Sector 7. In the slums. With the pillar as the target instead of the reactor. The number of casualties is unknown but assumed to be massive. No one knows what will happen next or who will move first. The announcements from ShinRa have all been empty reassurances rather than actual plans of action.

Almost aimless, she continues on, and it doesn’t take long to come across the first trickle of refugees from Sector 7 who don’t want to try their luck in Wall Market. The people of Sector 5 are ready for them. A good chunk of them, anyway. Spare blankets and first kits have been brought, so have water and kindling for the fires. The community is quicker to provide support than ShinRa, who are nowhere to be found and no one is asking after them. In the slums, everyone knows better.

Aerith doesn’t entirely know what she’s looking for, if anything, but she keeps drifting against the current, soaking in the environment she’s found herself in. Within Sector 5 proper, the refugees were a steady stream, but the closer you get to Sector 6 the more strewn about they become. Many are dressed in pajamas and barefoot, trying to keep warm by wrapping their arms around themselves. The personal possessions they carry are few and far between, and most of them barely seem to notice her as they continue their desperate trek to the relative safety of Sector 5.

When she closes her eyes to steady herself she can feel their loved ones passing by, calling out love and regrets she can’t be the messenger of.

Aerith takes a long breath and lets it all wash over her until all she’s left with is goosebumps from the wind.

When she opens her eyes and scans the incoming crowd she spots the SOLDIER she met the other day. He stands out like a beacon coming right toward her. At the sight of him her breath hitches and her heart doubles its pace.

With the barest inkling of a plan she marches right up to him.

He ignores her, or maybe doesn’t hear her call his name. In the end she really has to step directly in his path to get his attention, which he gives with a sort of disconcerted annoyance. When he stops walking she realizes he’s not traveling alone. A large, gun-armed man with a child and a woman stop along with him, pinning her with tired looks of indifference and curiosity respectively.

Cloud clearly has no interest in engaging her in conversation, so Aerith rocks back on her heels and clasps her hands together behind her back as if it will cage her anxiety. “Hey, it’s you again. I’m glad you were able to get out of Sector 7 intact.”

“Yeah,” Cloud answers, and he looks past her but doesn’t go to push her aside.

He doesn’t say anything else, and there’s an awkward moment where everyone present waits for something but nothing happens.

The woman he’s with saves them all, breaking the developing tension by asking, “Who is this, Cloud?”

Aerith perks up at the opening, but then the other man steps forward before she can. He towers over all of them. He definitely towers over Zack, too. In his arm is a sleeping little girl. “Who cares who she is? We need to keep moving.” He subtly nods to the child, conveying the urgency his tone lacks.

“If you need a place to stay I can help with that,” Aerith offers, because resourcefulness is a virtue she’s cultivated during an adolescence in the slums. 

With this many refugees, unless they know someone it’s going to be difficult to find a place to stay. Even with a child. They’ll have to venture further and further into Sector 5 when they’re already exhausted, with no guarantee they’ll find somewhere safe or affordable.

While Cloud seems dubious about her offer, his companions jump on it. Interest brightens their eyes, and Aerith takes her confidence by the reins before they need reassurance. “My house has a spare room. It’s also a little set apart from the rest of the neighborhood so it’ll be quiet.” After a beat she adds, “If it’s just tonight I don’t think my mom will mind.”

“Are you sure? You don’t even know us,” the woman says with a glance toward Cloud.

“Let’s change that, then. I’m Aerith. I sell flowers.”

“In the slums?”

“It’s a more flourishing business than you’d think.”

The man in the group steps forward. “Good enough for me. Name’s Barret Wallace, and this here is Marlene. Aerith the flower girl, good to meet you.”

The woman introduces herself as Tifa, and then Aerith leads the four of them to her house. On the way, she learns more about the pillar bombing than the news could ever hope to cover. According to them, ShinRa destroyed the pillar and is blaming it on AVALANCHE, when the reality is AVALANCHE and others from the slums were trying to stop ShinRa.

It’s not that Aerith doubts their story, though she has no reason to believe them. It’s just that it’s totally beyond her why ShinRa would want to wipe out a perfectly fine, thriving sector. From the distance she’s at, there’s nothing ShinRa would gain from that, but the group isn’t interested in naming a motive. In fact, the glide right over the finer details, instead focusing on the outrage they feel over the losses they’ve suffered as a result.

The first thing they do when they make it to her house is lay Marlene down in the spare bedroom. While Barret stays beside her, making sure she gets to sleep in a new location, Aerith moves Zack’s few belongings over to her room. When she goes back downstairs, Cloud and Tifa abruptly cut off a conversation they were having. With the way Tifa awkwardly jumps up to offer her help with whatever Aerith may need, maybe she should have stopped a few steps earlier to eavesdrop.

Aerith puts Tifa to work readying some tea while she collects some blankets. In no time at all they’re seated around the table, tea in front of them and ready to get to business.

“So,” Aerith starts things off, “is this your mercenary group—”

“No.”

“—because I have a job offer.”

Aerith and Cloud look at each other like this is a contest of wills. In a way, it is. This is her one shot, and she’s not going to let it go easily. Either way she’s going up to the Plate, to ShinRa headquarters, but before that happens she’s going to do all she can to make the scales more balanced. Whatever will give her an upperhand, even if only for a moment, she’ll take without regrets.

Tifa looks between them, trying to work out what she’s missing.

Finally, Cloud sighs, looks away. He says, “What’s the job?”

Aerith laces her fingers together and rests her chin atop them. “I want help breaking into ShinRa headquarters.”

Cloud frowns and looks back to her, searching her face. “You’re serious.”

“Very.”

“What do you want to break into ShinRa headquarters for?” Tifa asks.

“Someone I care about very much is being held there. I need to get him back.”

“Your boyfriend. Not a bluff, then, huh.”

Aerith is a little surprised Cloud remembers, but she’ll take it as a good sign. “Yes. It’s…” she shakes her head and takes a breath to regain her composure. “He was… gone. For a long time. Now that he’s back…” She takes another trembling breath and says, resolute, “I won’t lose him again.”

Cloud puts his arms on the table as he leans forward. “You know it’s a suicide mission, right?”

“It’s not, but if it were it wouldn’t change a thing.”

Cloud gives her an unimpressed look, but Tifa speaks up before he can say anything. If he was even going to. “What did your boyfriend do?”

“Nothing. He was just,” she tries to think of something to say, but settles for the barest trust, “with me.”

“And what does ShinRa want with _you_?” Cloud asks.

“Help me and the answer will be part of your pay.”

The mako glow makes his narrowed eyes more like a glare but Aerith doesn’t look away. She continues, “Please also keep in mind I’ve provided you with lodging when giving your rates.”

“I’ll be sure to tack on the other day’s expenses to my rate.”

“Fine.”

“Five thousand gil.”

They have nowhere near five thousand gil saved up. “The answer to why ShinRa wants me should cover that at least half of that.”

Cloud scowls at her. “Four thousand, and double it if there’s trouble.”

“Deal.”

“I want half upfront. Flourishing business, right?”

Aerith bites her cheek. Two thousand is doable, but the amount is large enough that they’ll feel the loss, especially her mom. It’s not like she has four thousand gil saved up either, though, let alone eight thousand. The bargaining can come later, so long as he agrees.

“I’ll help you, Aerith,” Tifa says, then. “My home, my bar, my everything was destroyed by ShinRa. Right now, I’m not sure what I should even be doing.”

Cloud fists his hands. “Tifa—”

He’s interrupted by footsteps that thud down the stairs despite the obvious attempt to muffle the noise. When Barret arrives at the bottom step he says, “If it’s hitting the ShinRa building you’re talking about count me in. Those bastards can’t keep getting away with this shit. They take and they take, and screw hitting them in their wallets. We gotta take the fight right to the top.”

Aerith blinks at him, caught off guard by his energy.

Misreading her look, Barret approaches the table with a grim smile. “A few details we left out before. Me and her? We’re AVALANCHE, and we lost a lot of good people tonight.” He presses at his eyes and his shoulders visibly shudder. “Too many of them too damn young to be martyrs for doing the right thing. We gotta do right by them.”

With a look of irritation, Cloud says, “And what does that look like, Barret? Charging into ShinRa headquarters to get you all killed?”

“Who asked you? The sooner we get justice for Sector 7, for Biggs, for Wedge, for Jessie, the better. This is bigger than me. Sure as hell bigger than you. For once, I wanna hit them where they’ll feel it.”

“You did, and what you got in return was millions of people killed.”

“ShinRa dropping the Plate is not on us. You heard them. Same as me. All they wanted was an excuse.” Barret turns his attention back to Aerith. “Don’t worry about him. With AVALANCHE at your back, there’s no doubt we’ll get your boy.”

“Thank you,” Aerith tells him sincerely.

From there they move right into planning the operation. Aerith tells them she understands they probably need rest and it can wait until morning, but apparently the night’s events have left them keyed up. The four of them group around the table, cups filled with fresh tea or coffee and rough sketches of how they can approach the building.

The first obstacle is that they have to get up to the Plate. The trains aren’t running, but even if they were, Aerith wouldn’t have access to them. There might be some options in Wall Market, but Aerith doesn’t know what they are off the top of her head. The times she’s been there she’s heard rumors about discreet ways of making it up to the Plate, but it was never something that interested her.

Getting Plate-side, however, is almost definitely the easiest step of the mission. It’s also the only part where someone can turn back if they decide they don’t want to go through with it.

After that comes the infiltration, which is difficult to discuss because the only one of them with any practical experience or information is Cloud, and he’s far from forthcoming. The only time he offers a contribution is to drag their plans down to reality with why they won’t work. He’s like a sulking kid who’s only going along because he doesn’t have another group of friends to play with.

The building has a high level of security, and even if it didn’t, there are tons of SOLDIERs, infantrymen, Turks, and general staff there going about their workday. Assuming the building is open to the public right now, or at all, they’ll stand out the second they get in. That means after they’ve made it up top they’ll have to find an alternative route inside. If Cloud knows one he’s not eager to share. Aerith has no idea, either. While Zack talked about his coworkers plenty and his actual work broadly, he never really talked about the building itself.

Then, of course, once they get inside they’ll have to find Zack. Aerith has an idea of where they might be keeping him, vaguely. She has no idea what the Turks would do with him, if they’d put him in a normal holding cell, or keep him with them, or give him to one of the scientists. They may not have any plans to hold on to him at all after they have her.

The unknown factors spur her desperation, her impatience, and the longer they talk, the more she wants to leave and work out the details as they go.

Their planning session ends on a low but determined note. They catch a few hours of sleep, and after explaining the situation to her mom, they head off to Wall Market to make things work. 

Being right next to Sector 7, plenty of aftereffects of the pillar falling have reached them, including debris from the precarious remnants of the forgotten Sector 6 plate on top of debris from Sector 7. According to the locals of Wall Market, it’s always possible to climb to the Plate using the mess of wires and scaffolding and rebar. Dangerous, but very possible, and not enough time has passed for anyone to know how the destruction of Sector 7 has affected that. 

Not that it matters, because they’re going to find out regardless.

They pick up some supplies they may or may not need, rope and extra potions and pitons and a makeshift grappling hook among other things.

To put it lightly, climbing up pieces of metal and crumbling framework is much more exhausting and nerve-wracking than traversing rooftops. Pieces crumble under their weight and they have to jump across gaps so wide they have to use hanging pipes as if they’re ropes.

Getting to the top takes hours and multiple breaks. Once they’ve made it, the urban, modern topside is… underwhelming. Clean and put together, but austere. There’s not any dirt she can see, and not much nature either. The few foliage she sees is fake or in artwork. In contrast to the slums below, the streets are relatively barren, filled with empty cars and light instead of people.

Against her will, Aerith’s eyes are tugged upwards. Her heart races with anxiety or exertion or both. Above her the sky is a blank, black-blue tarp that extends endlessly in every direction. There’s the moon, on its way to fullness and glowing white. Beautiful. The stars are scant, though, constellations nowhere she can see, and it’s disappointing. Not scary, not overwhelming, simply empty.

“Hey, you okay?” Tifa asks, briefly touching her shoulder.

“Yeah. I’ve just never seen the sky before.”

Tifa looks to the sky and takes it in for a moment. Then, she turns to her with a small smile. “If it’s any consolation, the night sky is prettier away from Midgar.”

“Is it?”

“I don’t know what it is. Maybe the mako, maybe something else, but for some reason the stars are hidden here. There are a few, but it’s really not the same.”

Aerith hums. Maybe there’s some hope for seeing it with Zack, then. “What about during the day?”

Tifa’s smile widens some. “The view is nice when it’s not obscured by a metal web. Plus, the rain is wonderful. Usually. Refreshing. There’s not a risk it’ll make you sick. I don’t know how you grow anything in the slums.”

“I just have a knack for it, I guess.”

A short time after that Cloud comes to an abrupt stop in front of them. He points to a large building in the distance they’ve been steadily walking in the direction of. “That’s it over there. ShinRa headquarters.”

It’s close enough that the ShinRa logo can be made out clearly. Now that it’s been pointed out it’s obvious. Aside from the large logo bright red in the night, it has some peculiar architecture compared to the other buildings and towers over them, too. It’s been about fifteen years since Aerith was there, but with a few exceptions, her memories of it are more like snapshots than a reliable recollection.

As they get closer to the building it becomes apparent that the area is more or less on lockdown. The lighting becomes glaring military instead of soft pedestrian, and they have to keep dodging to side alleys as more and more ShinRa vans pass by. 

The entrance is flooded with ShinRa. There are so many infantrymen present they effectively form a perimeter, but a great deal of them seem to be preparing to head out rather than on guard. Rushing them is out of the question, for all that Barret is in favor of it, so they keep to the shadows as they circle round, keeping an eye out for potential openings to get closer.

The handy thing about living in a city like Midgar where construction is always underway, is that there’s always an unsupervised corner that leads places you wouldn’t expect. This is how they find their way to an unguarded side entrance that seems to have been forgotten.

They head down a dark tunnel that leads them to a stairwell that’s damp and cold and filled with cobwebs. Together, they stand in the center and look up to find seemingly endless sets of stairs leading up into darkness.

“Uh. We sure about this?” Barret says. “Not too late to burst in the front door. I kinda like that plan, to be honest. We can take them.”

“If we do that they’ll know we’re coming,” Cloud answers. “While they won’t know what we’re here for, security will definitely be on high alert. Is that what you want?”

Barret grumbles and Cloud says, distinctly taunting, “You aren’t scared of some stairs, are you?”

Barret swears and gets them started for their second ascent of the day. The climb puts Aerith’s legs to the test more than any rooftop or dilapidated mountain of wreckage ever could. She pushes herself to keep up with the rest of them and her thighs burn for it. By the time they find themselves at a door that indicates the lobby is beyond it she’s fanning herself and leaning against the cold of the rails for some relief.

“We should keep going,” Cloud says.

Barret swears under his breath. “You serious? The lobby is right here.”

“The lobby isn’t where we need to be.”

“Yeah? And where do we need to be?”

Cloud bristles. “Wherever the jail is, I’d guess.”

“Where’s that?” At Cloud’s lack of an answer Barret continues, “Maybe we can find out in the lobby.”

“Right, because the lobby directory is going to list where prisoners are kept.”

“Hey, at least there’s an elevator. That way we won’t be exhausted by the time we find the guy.”

“An elevator we can’t access without a keycard.”

Tifa steps between them. “Guys, can we save the fighting for later? And keep it down.”

“Cloud is wearing a SOLDIER uniform. Maybe we can find someone and he can say he lost his keycard?” Aerith suggests.

“That’s not gonna work,” he tells her.

“Why not?”

“It just won’t.”

“Okay… Well, let’s see if the door opens maybe? It won’t be any good if we keep going up and find out all the doors are locked.”

They silently deliberate the worthiness of this suggestion. Without verbal or physical confirmation a conclusion is reached. One is reached between the three of them, anyway. Aerith isn’t entirely sure what it is, but she already knew she was going to follow through when she suggested it.

She turns the knob with exaggerated slowness, as though going any faster the metal will catch and crack. It moves heavy and smooth, and gives a loud click when she turns it all it can. She holds it there. When no one forces the door open, Aerith slowly opens it enough to peek through.

Though dark, it’s definitely the lobby on the other side. No music, no chatter, no footsteps, things are definitely closed for the night. She pushes her head out the door to take a look and ignores the harsh whispers and hand that lands on her shoulder.

When she pulls back into the stairwell she says, “There’s no one out there.”

Barret gives Cloud a vindicated look and casually opens the door the rest of the way to lead them into the lobby.

“I guess not even ShinRa runs twenty-four hours a day,” Tifa says as she looks around.

Cloud scans the area, taking note of the doorways and stairs. “They do run twenty-four hours a day. Just not open to the public.”

“Then, what was the big deal about not entering the lobby?” Barret asks.

“This place is full of cameras. You may not be able to see them, but they’re here. No one working just makes it more obvious we’re intruders.”

Tifa hops over the center counter. “In that case, we better work quick. While the directory isn’t going to tell us where they keep prisoners, maybe the computer will be a different story.”

Aerith follows to stand over Tifa’s shoulder, watching her try to work her way into the computer. After a few unsuccessful tries, Aerith goes, “Um. Have you done this before?”

Tifa takes a breath. “No. Hey, Cloud, do you have any idea how we can access this computer? It needs a password, but maybe you know a way we can bypass it?”

Cloud shakes his head and joins them to look at the screen. He doesn’t bother feigning interest or consideration. “No. I was in SOLDIER, not IT, not reception. I barely had to use a computer the entire time I was part of ShinRa.”

Tifa sighs and messes around with the computer enough times it locks her out and tells her to contact an administrator. She groans and thwacks the side of the monitor. “Guess that plan’s out, then. Or maybe not…?” she says as something off to the side catches her attention.

Aerith leans over to try and follow her line of sight. “What is it?”

Tifa reaches her hand into a slot under the counter and pulls out a plastic card. “This a keycard, Cloud?”

“Looks like it. It’s probably inactive.”

From the other side of the counter Barret points past the kiosk they’re in. “Going in through the museum might be our best bet.”

Cloud gives him a blank look. “The what?”

“The self-congratulatory monument that’s been under construction for the last few years. They can’t shut up about it. You been living under a rock?”

Before Cloud can respond, Tifa says, “Cloud’s been away from Midgar the last few years. Of course he wouldn’t know.”

Barret scoffs and mutters something about how uninformed Cloud is for a mercenary. “Might not be able to use the elevators, but there are stairs here, too. If we’re lucky we’ll run into a guard and can get their keycard.”

They make their way up a wide staircase to the upper floor of the lobby, which is just as barren and dark as the first floor. There are stands and posters that make their desired location hard to miss. It’s a pair of large, decorated doors plated with gold, or something reflective at any rate. To the side of it is a scanner of some sort, and with some trepidation they take their keycard and hold it up to it. It takes a few tries, but eventually there is a beep accompanied by a green light and a voice telling them to proceed into the museum.

Inside, they’re met by an automated voice greeting them to the museum, and by a large, towering statue of a man. According to both the recorded message and the plaque on the pedestal, the man is President Shinra. Looking closer, it does seem to be a fairly accurate likeness to him.

“It sure is fancy, isn’t it?” Aerith says as they make their way through the exhibition filled with pictures, models, recordings, decades old artifacts.

“A fancy lot of garbage,” Barret answers, scowling at one of the photos of President Shinra with an early business partner.

For lack of a real plan or sense of where to go, they follow the lights and arrows that direct them. It works out fairly well, too, since they don’t come across any guards or alarms and the doors open when they approach. They’re led through ShinRa’s beginnings in weapon manufacturing before their discovery of mako. By the time they reach the present, the museum shifts more into a showcasing of ShinRa’s present ambitions, giving a short presentation on each of the division heads and what sort of work they do to ensure Midgar thrives.

A floor or two into their venture, Tifa says, “So, we don’t have any idea where we’re going do we?” She directs the question towards Cloud.

“I don’t know where they keep prisoners,” he says, “especially for something like this. If I had to guess, I’d say the on the upper floors. Every division has their own set of floors, and then President Shinra’s office is at the very top.”

Barret gives him a look. “Uh. You telling me they’re gonna keep prisoners anywhere near the boss?”

Annoyance crosses Cloud’s face, so Aerith takes the moment to say, “A lot of things go on in this building that the public has no idea about.”

“The hell’s that got to do with anything?”

Aerith thinks about how she wants to respond to that, and then Cloud says, “It means ShinRa is up to a lot of classified, shady things. The higher up, the harder it is for something to leak.”

“More or less,” Aerith agrees. “I don’t really know much, but I think he’ll be on one of the higher floors. Much higher than this.”

“What makes you think that?” Barret asks.

“When I was young I lived in this building. Well, not so much lived. I was kept here. In the science department, to be exact, which is on some of the top floors. From what I remember, there were rows of containment cells there.”

“And you think that’s where they’d be keeping your boyfriend?” Cloud asks, and it sounds like he doesn’t fully believe her.

Aerith shakes her head. “I don’t know, but it’s a starting point.”

“Hold up a minute,” Barret says. “Did you just say you used to live here?”

“When I was a little girl. It’s a long story, but I’m kind of like a criminal on the run.”

Barret and Tifa affix her with matching looks of bewilderment at that news, and Aerith can’t help smiling a little at it, holding a finger to her lips like it’s a big secret.

Cloud sighs as he turns away. “Let’s keep moving.”

As they seem to reach the end, the next stairs up leads them to something unlike anything else they’ve come across. It’s a floor that looks still partially under construction. A few steps down the hall they find a curved wall with a door advertising a room called the “Cosmos Theater.” None of them know what that means, and their curiosity leads them to the other side.

Inside, the room is a barren dome. The sign said it was a theater, but there isn’t a screen, projector, or anywhere to sit. They wander the room, maybe to see if there are some hidden buttons, and as they pass the center of the room the air around them shifts. Lights blind them for a moment, and then they’re no longer in a dull metal room, but a lush field with a blue sky the likes Aerith’s never seen high above them. 

They move without moving, the field passing through them like a river, as a voice echoes in the room. It tells them about a race of people they call the Ancients, who lived long before them and whose existence revolved around mako. The narration presents them as a sort of precursor to ShinRa, who’s followed in their footsteps by harnessing mako energy.

They’re shown moving pictures of Cetra and their civilization. They’re shown the lifestream and Cetra listening to it, embracing it, living with it.

Aerith can’t speak to how accurate any of it is, but her heart thumps loud in her ears as she watches. Did this information, these images, come from her mother? It’s not as if the Cetra are completely unknown, so wouldn’t lying or making things up potentially backfire in the long run?

Then, the audio proclaims about the Promised Land and Aerith nearly finches. The Promised Land is a paradise full of mako, promising untold advancements for mankind. Unfortunately, the Ancients are gone, so no one knows if the Ancients ever found it or where it might be, but it must be out there somewhere.

The presentation comes to a close with a vision of an idealized utopian Midgar, with ShinRa at its core, and Aerith feels her stomach drop, a coldness stab through her.

To think they believe Aerith is the key to that future.

If she is, she doesn’t know how to lead them there.

She can’t say she wants to help them get there, either.

Do they realize that they’re on the completely opposite end of the spectrum from the Cetra? They misrepresent the relationship between mako and the lifestream, but she can’t tell how intentional that is. She doesn’t know if they truly understand what they’re doing.

Except, they must, because she can’t imagine her mother didn’t tell them.

“What was that?” Tifa asks as the images fade away and they’re once again left in an empty metal jar.

“A load of bullshit, that’s what,” Barret answers. “They’re killing the planet, and they want everyone to think they’re saving it. If the Ancients were still here, you can be sure they’d be trying to stop ShinRa.”

“You think so?” Aerith asks him.

“Absolutely.” Barret gestures to where there were images of Cetra just a few minutes ago. “The Ancients talked to the planet, right? They lived with it and listened. ShinRa ain’t listening, and they don’t need to listen to know they’re hurting it.”

“Yeah…”

“And they’re not just hurting the planet. They’re killing the people who work for them and help them thrive. Greed is all they care about.”

Tifa looks around the room as if she can catch traces of the performance they were given. “All that was true, then? About the Ancients and promised land, I mean. I’ve heard of the Ancients, but I don’t really know anything about them. I haven’t heard of any promised land either.”

Barret scuffs at the ground with his boot. “From what little I know, anyway. Apparently, they really could talk with the planet, hear it, something. Don’t know about the rest.”

“And what’s that even mean? That they could talk with the planet.”

“The hell should I know? Probably makes a lot of shit easier, though. If the planet can just tell you when something’s wrong or the crops are bad or whatever.”

“Sounds like a bunch of fairytale nonsense,” Cloud says. “They’ve been gone a long time, right?”

“Even if they have, it’s fucked up for ShinRa to take their culture, their existence, and twist it to line their pockets. You don’t think so?”

“It doesn’t really matter anymore. There aren’t any Ancients left. Or do you think they’re lying about that, too?”

“Who the hell knows. If there are any Ancients left, I hope they stay hidden. For their own good.”

Cloud grunts and leaves the room. They follow after him.

If there were any other Ancients left, but there aren’t. Aerith’s known that for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nature of video games makes it very difficult to gauge the value of money or the economy in general.
> 
> The museum in FFVIIR is on the 60th floor. I am not a fan of that. So I moved it lower. I was pretty underwhelmed by the ShinRa Building portion of FFVIIR, but the museum as a concept was a neat-ish addition.
> 
> This chapter is a little meh… I know. But I am trying. Next chapter we're back to Zack. I am not writing the crew exploring the ShinRa building, because that is too outside my sphere right now. Since this is a series, I can always expand when I'm comfortable or want to practice it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long notes at end sry

It’s not long into his traversal out of ShinRa headquarters that Zack realizes something is wrong. The building itself is much the same as he remembers, and with the confident, knowing way he strides through the halls no one questions him, even with his casual attire. No one takes notice of the way he lingers at corners and slips through doors before they can close, or joins up with groups as if he belongs with them. No one recognizes him, gives a double take, stares, or does anything aside from make idle chatter about the current state of things in Midgar and the office.

At first he writes it off as exhaustion. He hasn’t been getting much sleep, which isn’t a big deal. Pushing his body until the job’s done is something he’s done countless times, and this is considerably less dangerous. But the exhaustion is different from what he’s used to.

He’s listening in on conversations, and trying to keep up with them, but after every few sentences words lose their shape, their meaning. They muddy together into a film of nonsense. It feels like there’s more to it, though, and he tries to wrap the nonsense around his mind, let it perfuse. Allow it to saturate and soak through the rest of him until it’s become one with him.

There’s something wrong with that instinct, but he can’t place what. For some reason, that doesn’t worry him.

What does worry him is that it interferes with his focus, his ability to remain beneath notice.

He starts getting looks, people leave him behind, he has to take rests against walls until he’s able to orient himself. Someone asks if he’s feeling okay and pulls aside to take a seat. Someone else suggests bringing him to the infirmary while another mentions that his face is flushed.

If it is he can’t feel it. Maybe that’s a problem. Not that it’s numb or anything, but SOLDIERs aren’t really prone to illness. He’s not wounded. There’s no reason for a feverish reaction.

Zack waves off their concerns with a shaky laugh and encourages them to go on without him.

They do, because as far as they know he’s an unknown coworker. There’s no real need to concern themselves with him when there’s work to be done. 

They leave him, and once he’s alone his mind clears like fog in sunlight. His breath comes heavy and there’s sweat at his temples. His forearms twitch, muscles aching like the aftermath of hard battle. Zack sighs and pushes his hands through his hair, presses at his scalp. Now isn’t the time. He can be bone tired later, after he’s made it home to Aerith. For that purpose, he can withstand anything.

He stands up with more grace than expected and shakes out his arms. Then, he takes one step after another, each with greater focus than called for, until he’s found himself in the hall and making way for the closest door. The closest floor.

Making it to the next floor. The next.

The next.

The numbers on the wall are nothing more than black blocks and he follows them with no real sense.

The next.

No aim. No direction. No dimension. Despite the fact he knows the building well. Or he knows it decently anyway. He should have some idea where he is, where to find an exit, but he doesn’t. His cognition is limited to his immediate surroundings. If it’s not within arm’s length it might as well not be there.

Nothing is in the world except the blinding beacon in his head urging him forward.

But he’s unable to process that fact beyond the knowledge that it’s wrong. It’s wrong, yet he continues to follow it because what else is there to do? His heart, pounding ever more desperately, wants to implode in hopes of escape.

The agonized tremble of his heart only calms after he finds himself in front of some sort of metal containment. His fingers are wrapped loosely around a valve, and when he realizes that he tightens his hold. Leather hugs too tight against his skin, testing its limits. From within the window just overhead is a soft glow, and Zack narrows his eyes as memories spill out to the forefront of his mind.

Being with Sephiroth in the Nibelheim reactor.

A locked door with “Jenova” written overhead.

Vats similar to the ones in the Nibelheim mansion basement, but also nothing like them. Monsters created from mako, not unlike them. Not like them at all, who can freely masquerade among humanity under the guise of “special” and be celebrated for their monstrosity. 

Genesis’s appearance, calling Sephiroth a monster, confirming an already held suspicion that refused to stay buried.

That’s not why it happened, is it?

Was it going to happen regardless? Following the example of his old friends but to a worse extreme. Or because Zack couldn’t stop him. 

Be a monster, then. Do what monsters do. Raise hell. Kill those you should be protecting. Exact revenge.

Just like back then, almost as if he’s in a different time, Zack pulls himself up to get a better look inside. Just like then, he finds himself recoiling at the sight. Bile rises in his throat and he puts the back of his hand to his mouth just in case as he forces his eyes away. 

Then, for no reason, he takes another look, and finds himself riveted. With cold certainty laden in his gut he knows this is Jenova. Before, he never got an actual look. Sephiroth removed the cover and then they were fighting, but he knows. His chest is burning from the friction of his heart. He rubs the smooth metal of the valve, continuing to stare. 

So this is it. Her? The so-called calamity that fell from the sky. Sephiroth’s mother? That’s not really a coincidence, is it? Sephiroth didn’t seem to think so.

There’s no head, and he guesses the form is vaguely human, vaguely female. If you ignore eye placements. Which… the eyes seem to be looking back, actually, tracking him if he tilts this way or that. They pin him in place and he feels an unsettling prickling sensation over his neck.

He wants to turn the valve, can visualize himself doing so and the satisfying hiss the door will give as it releases—

Zack tears his gaze away with a gasp. He shakes his head, turning away. The metal isn’t cool enough against his back when he slides down to sit on the floor. He doesn’t know what that was. He can’t afford to think about it, either.

From the looks of it he’s found himself in some kind of storage room. If Jenova is here, though, that must mean it’s at least near a laboratory. The sound of the containment clogs up his senses so much he can’t hear if anyone else is around, but no one is immediately visible.

Except…

A bit off to the side is a rounded glass cage holding a creature. A four-legged creature with reddish fur and a tail topped off with an ember. A creature that’s staring right at him with calm intelligence. Or maybe that’s just resignation to its lot, all fight and passion lost after prolonged captivity.

Zack shakes his head with too much force. He needs to stop. Focus.

He pushes himself to his feet and takes a few steps in every direction aimlessly. There’s mostly just crates and canisters, all of them poorly labeled. Other than the living creature, it sort of looks half-abandoned. Not what he’d expect for something as classified as Jenova. 

But it’s not like it’d be here by accident, or misplaced.

The moment he has the thought, Hojo flashes into his mind. Ignoring the fact he somehow got in here in the first place, Jenova’s presence means this is a high clearance area, run by someone who handles it directly.

Was Hojo in Nibelheim a year ago? Would he still be there now?

His breath starts coming short and it takes him a few minutes to get his emotions under control. Not the time. Besides, it’s not as if Hojo poses any real threat to him.

After one last sweep of the area, Zack drops into a crouch in front of the caged creature. If it’s a monster, it’s not a type he has any familiarity with. There’s a scar over one of its eyes and a handful of features in its fur that seem deliberately placed. Its ears are pierced with several rings and there’s a “XIII” tattooed on its arm.

“Hey, you don’t happen to know what floor I’m on, do you?”

The creature stares at him. It’s tail flips from one direction to the other, and it lets out a long yawn.

Zack sighs. “Yeah. That’s about what I expected.”

Zack leans back and tilts his head to take a look at the room upside down. Wherever he is, it’s definitely not the direction he meant to go. What a mess. If Angeal could see him now he would probably be hiding his face in his hands out of embarrassment.

Maybe he should try throwing himself out a window. If a rain of bullets didn’t kill him a fall of this height probably won’t either, right?

Not that he’s going to find any windows on a laboratory floor or storage. 

Abruptly, there’s the sound of machinery, and as he sits up he sees the ceiling of the cage opening up. Not long after that the creature is raised up through the hole. 

That means there’s someone here, above him. More importantly it guarantees the floors are connected. Plus, that’s most likely a scientist, with a keycard that will get him out of here. He’ll give himself away, but he’s way past caring about that. At this point, all it’s going to take is one knowledgeable individual pursuing the security footage.

Zack takes a deep breath to settle his nerves. With one last glance at Jenova’s prison, he searches the room until he finds a service elevator.

It takes him a short distance up and is too noisy to go unheard in the stillness of the lab. Before the gate opens all the way he can spot a scientist a short ways away, clad in white coat and… sporting a long, dark ponytail.

Zack’s stomach roils and his hands lose their feeling, the leather encasing them too hot. There’s a staircase to his left that seems to lead up to an observation floor or control center. Nothing but lab equipment and the upper half of the glass cage to his right. The way out is straight ahead, with Hojo as the primary obstacle. Hojo, who also holds the keycard he was hoping to take on his way.

It’s not like he’s afraid of Hojo. He’s not. What can Hojo do to him when he’s not already been struck down or too drugged to hold a thought and keep his body coordinated. 

Just…

There are conflicting instincts. He wants to rip the keycard off him and continue on his way like Hojo’s a long rotted corpse. He wants to put his hands around Hojo’s neck and squeeze until he feels bone crack. He wants to turn around and come back where he came from, find another way off this floor.

The thoughts shuffle through his mind, mixing and matching as they please with desire, impulse, and intention. There’s no way to tell which belongs where, and he doesn’t know which is the choice his brain has decided to follow through on.

It’s startling, but his feet take him ahead anyway.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

When he’s a few meters away, Hojo turns to look at him. It’s not clear if he was aware of Zack’s presence or not, but the flatness in his eyes is so unsettling Zack takes a step back. There’s no such thing as enough distance when it comes to this man.

The lines in Hojo’s face make it look like he’s scowling but he’s not, just frowning as he takes stock of Zack’s presence in the lab. There’s a tense moment as he looks, neither of them saying anything. 

Zack can feel cold sweat on his nape and he resists the urge to wipe at it.

Hojo closes his eyes and turns his head back forward.

Zack holds on to the exhale of relief he wants to give. But then Hojo mutters. It sounds something like “fascinating,” and some part of Zack finds that so disconcerting he jolts back and blurts out, “What?”

“Tell me, specimen, what is it that’s brought you here?”

Being called in such a way sets Zack’s hair on end and he sputters, “What? I— What?”

Hojo turns back to him with a wide smile, his eyes calm but gleaming with curiosity. “This place, specimen. Midgar. Why are you here?”

“I—” Zack cuts himself off with a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “I have a name, you know.”

“It’s inconsequential,” Hojo says and looks away from him, mumbling a long string under his breath that’s too indistinct for Zack to decipher into words.

Zack takes a step to the side, away from Hojo and around him. If he doesn’t remember him after a year, or whenever Hojo last saw him, Zack isn’t in a rush to change that.. “If that’s all, Professor, I’m gonna get going, then.”

Hojo pivots with more speed and force than Zack would have expected of a man his age and size. He’s still smiling. He takes a step that puts him right in the middle of Zack's path. “Why would you want to leave? And after you’ve returned yourself to my care.”

Zack takes another step back. “As… great,” he forces the word out, “as that sounds, I have places to be.”

“Now, that’s just not true. Isn’t the only thing you’re looking for right below us?”

“The exit’s some sixty floors below us, right? So, yeah. I guess.”

Hojo chuckles to himself. The sound of it is like a grater on Zack’s skin. He needs to get out of here, now. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to avoid by playing nice here. Just shove him aside and go. It’s not hard.

In the midst of Hojo’s renewed mumbling he catches him saying “Nibelheim,” and just like that, the spell keeping his feet glued to the ground breaks. 

At almost the same moment, the door on the other side of the room swishes open. He shifts his stance, prepared for whatever’s coming, grateful for it even, because he’d rather deal with anything other than Hojo. If necessary, he can flee up the stairs, that will buy him some time.

Instead of scientists, though, or security or anything else, there’s a spot of pink against the grey. It morphes into Aerith. Following after her is Cloud, and AVALANCHE.

Zack makes a confused sound, thinking his brain has finally short circuited. Without meaning to, he murmurs her name, only to regret it when Hojo narrows his eyes. There’s another smile from him, this one more insidious than any of the previous ones.

Hojo laughs once more, louder, like he can’t help himself, and he says, “How fortunate, to have another of my specimens return itself to me.”

From across the room Aerith calls out for him and rushes forward, but Zack holds up his hand before she can get more than a few steps. “Zack, are you okay?”

“I’m…”

“You two are acquainted?” Hojo talks over him with ease. He looks at Aerith. Back to Zack. The calculating interest in his eyes makes him feel nauseated, and when he finally speaks, it only grows. “If the two of you are mates I have no issue in allowing that to continue. Of course, breeding her with a normal SOLDIER first would be most optimal. Hmm,” he trails off.

“What the hell are you saying?” Zack says, horrified, almost breathless. “Do you hear yourself?”

Hojo huffs. “Honestly, it’s what we should have done with the mother. We didn’t, and look what we’re left with. A single, uncooperative Cetra. Not that cooperation is necessary, of course.”

Zack’s arms twitch at his sides. He wants to throw Hojo through the glass cage. He wants to grab his arms and shake sense into him, empathy into him, humanity into him. As if there’s any to jar loose in the first place. 

Zack met Hojo when he was in SOLDIER. While he remembers him being kind of weird and cold, it wasn’t this. Whatever this is. Or could he just not see it at the time?

He was assigned to protect him from Genesis.

His stomach twists violently as he thinks back to that time. Whatever Genesis had in store for him, what would it mean for Zack now if it had come to pass?

Zack clenches his fist. “I am not staying here. Neither is she.”

Zack moves, but Hojo swings his arm at him with more speed than expected. His hand is empty but Zack jumps back anyway. “I can’t allow that.”

With his nerves starting to fray, Zack scans the room, desperate for anything that will help. His gaze lands on the creature brought up from storage. It’s watching their confrontation with hunched shoulders, its single eye narrowed, honed in on Hojo. Its tail flicks from one side to the other restlessly, like a long elusive prey has finally presented itself but is just out of reach.

Following through before he can really think the action or its consequences through, Zack focuses energy in his palm, coiling it tight and small. The moment it’s ready, he flings the thundara at the glass. It shatters in an instant, and in that same instant the creature held inside takes the advantage it's been given. It lunges forward, tackling Hojo to the ground and sinking teeth into his shoulder with an angry growl.

Zack lets out a shaking breath and begins moving around the edges, just in case. The creature looks up at him anyway. There’s blood on its muzzle and Hojo grunts as claws make up for the loss. It licks its chops, and then Zack hears, “Thanks for freeing me,” and it takes him longer than it really should to realize it's the creature that spoke.

“Whoa! Wait, you talk? Hey… Why didn’t you say anything before?”

The creature tilts its head at him. “You wear no uniform, but most two-legged things can’t be trusted.”

“Oh.” Yeah. That makes sense. Zack takes careful steps to be on the other side of Hojo. “Sorry about using you like that. Uh. Want to make a jailbreak?” He gestures in the general direction of the door.

The creature peers at the group behind him, and then to Hojo under its paws. Before an answer can be given, though, Hojo laughs, strained but clear. “It’s too late.”

There’s no opportunity to question that, because moments later a monster the likes of which Zack’s never seen drops down from the railing overhead. It looks like an amalgam of different monsters sewn together. Following after it are a handful of smaller monsters that circle around them, ensuring there’s no escape either direction. Not that Zack is about to go back the way he came when Aerith is on the other side of this thing.

Zack takes a slow breath. This is something he can focus on and channel his frenzied energy into, and that’s exactly what he does. The big monster has no immediately identifiable weak points, so he rotates through the materia he has until he finds which element works best. Meanwhile he fights off the smaller monsters with fists and kicks when they demand attention.

When the fight is over Hojo is nowhere to be found. Zack is grateful, but it’s not likely to be a good thing. The alarm has surely been raised. 

He leans over. That battle wasn’t difficult, especially with so many of them, but he’s exhausted. His hands tremble, and continue to do so even as he grips his thighs.

A hand lands lightly on his shoulder. He recognizes Aerith just in time to prevent himself from tensing. Giving her the most winning smile he can manage, he says, “Hey. What are you doing here? I thought you got away from the Turks.”

Aerith smiles back. Her fingers go to his inner wrist, just where his gloves end. The barely there friction of her fingertips is electric but grounding. His hand wanders up to rest over hers.

Aerith makes a fist with her free hand and pumps it. “I did. I’m here to rescue you.”

Zack laughs breathlessly. “Yeah? I’m in your debt, my lady.”

“I’m confident you’ll think of adequate compensation.” And then she notices the creature Zack freed at his side and crouches down to get on eye level with it. “And who is this?”

The creature bows its head in acknowledgement. “Hojo calls me Red XIII. You may call me whatever you wish.”

“Thirteen?” Zack says, and his eyes land on the tattoo. He swallows and finds himself checking his own arms despite already knowing they’re bare. “You don’t have a name of your own?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Uh. In that case, how about just Red? A bit less... specimen-y. You know?”

“As you wish,” Red agrees with an amused sounding huff.

“Nice to meet you, Red,” Aerith says, giving his paw a little shake. Then she’s standing up, wrapping Zack’s arm up in hers, and tugging him along to the group of AVALANCHE. “Zack, meet Tifa, Cloud, and Barret.”

Tifa and Barret are staring daggers at him.

Cloud is tense, looking away. His arm is slightly bent and his fingers are curled like he’s expecting a fight.

Barret says, “Hold up a minute. You aren’t telling me _this_ is the boyfriend we’re meant to be rescuing, are you?”

Aerith hugs his arm. “Yup. That’s exactly what I’m saying. It took about a hundred staircases, but we found him.”

“Nah nah I don’t buy it. Is this a trick? This guy was there when the pillar fell.”

“Excuse me?”

“I can explain,” Zack says, holding up his free hand. They look at him. Expectantly. Zack pats at the air to give himself more time. The explanation of what was actually going on when they saw him isn’t really going to get him any points here. It will also sound like bullshit.

“Is there any chance this can wait?” Red says from beside Zack. His voice is a low rumble, almost easy to mistake for a growl. “Regardless of circumstance, we share the common goal of escape, correct? Reinforcements may be here soon.”

Barret eyes Red warily, and then says, “Actually, no. It can’t wait, because I didn’t come here to walk into some ShinRa trap.” His gaze shifts to Aerith, not glaring, but clearly trying to find the deceit in her expression.

Zack sighs, presses the heel of his hand to his temple. Neither Cloud nor Tifa seem like they’re about to speak up about his identity, whether to vouch for him or deem him ShinRa scum.

Is he supposed to say he’s a former SOLDIER on the run? That’s not really a thing. ShinRa doesn’t allow it. Either you’re killed in action or you work for them. He doesn’t expect AVALANCHE to go for it.

Since Tifa’s here, it’s not in his best interest to lie anyway.

Not that this is an alliance he’s eager to jump into. This is AVALANCHE, after all. For all that Barret’s right to worry this is a trap for them, it works the other way around, too. If AVALANCHE is aware of who Aerith is, or even just that she’s a person of interest to ShinRa, there’s little doubt in his mind they’d kidnap her. This could be a ploy to earn her trust on top of screwing ShinRa.

Zack slides his hand through his hair and settles it on his hip. “Look, while I’m grateful you looked out for Aerith, I can’t say I’m looking to ally up with AVALANCHE, anyway. So maybe we should part ways here.”

Barret scowls like Zack’s confirmed every nasty assumption he just made about him.

Zack continues, “Did ShinRa destroy the pillar? Yeah, but AVALANCHE isn’t really much better.”

“ShinRa murdered millions in cold blood and you’re gonna say we’re just as bad?”

“All I’m saying is you guys aren’t the most trustworthy bunch, either. For a couple of civilians like ourselves it’s pretty risky.”

Barret scoffs and grumbles, “Like hell you’re a civilian. No normal civilian has materia that high level. Or moves like that.”

Zack shrugs one shoulder. He pauses, glancing at Tifa but she’s avoiding meeting his gaze. “If we don’t trust each other what more is there to say? I want to get the hell out of here. I’m not waiting for your approval.”

To his surprise, rather than Tifa, it’s Cloud who inserts himself into the conversation. He looks toward Zack but not directly at him and says, “We can go our separate ways, but there’s the matter of my pay.”

Zack blinks. “What?”

Cloud puts a hand on his hip, mirroring Zack except for the fact his other hand is gesturing. Something about it is a little uncomfortable, so Zack moves his hand to rest on Aerith’s arm instead. Cloud says, “Your girlfriend hired me for a job. If it’s ending early, then I want the rest of my payment.”

Now that Zack’s actually hearing him say more than a few words, he notices there’s kind of an edge to his tone, a no nonsense confidence that was never there before. Or at least not present when superior officers were around. Or while off duty. 

“Are you serious?”

Cloud shrugs. “Gotta make a living.”

Zack narrows his eyes, tilts his head while his heartbeat works double. This is weird, right? It’s totally weird. Even removing Zack from the equation, Cloud’s personality in general wasn’t this… blasé. This is enemy territory. This is an enemy who’s already stuck him in a poison vat once. And he’s concerned about getting paid, of all things.

He’s never heard of mako poisoning having effects like this, but. It’s not like only mako is at play here.

“Sorry, but I’m a little short on cash considering I was kidnapped. So…”

“If I was leading you into a trap I would have done it before now,” Aerith says. “Whatever history is going on here, it doesn’t matter right now. We can deal with it later.”

At the very least, they can agree on this. While clearly going separate ways would be most efficient for everyone, now that distrust has been established Barret doesn’t want them out of his sight. If they’re spies, they get to be hostages, and if they’re not they can go.

Not the best deal, but Zack would rather take his chances outside with AVALANCHE than at the core of ShinRa headquarters.

So make way for the exit. Sixty-seven floors below them.

They don’t make it outside the building. They don’t even make it to the lobby.

In a move that is wholly fueled by their collective exhaustion, they take the elevator.

Zack and Aerith first, to be trapped at the back, then AVALANCHE, and Red at the front. He guesses that means he’s the most trustworthy of any of them here.

They go down a few floors.

The doors open on the fiftieth floor. In walks Rude. Then Tseng.

What follows is the most awkward elevator ride Zack has ever had and probably will ever have. Making it worse is that the elevator clearly wasn’t made to fit seven people and a feline-canine animal comfortably. Zack honestly isn’t sure if being at the back is better or worse. Barret reacts strongly to their presence, cursing them and ShinRa out, but there’s no space to fight and shooting a gun in a glass elevator is a terrible idea besides.

Tseng doesn’t look at him once, but at one point he sighs, and Zack instinctively knows it’s meant for him.

Tseng sighs under his breath, and Zack knows instinctively that it’s meant for him.

The elevator stops at floor sixty-seven, and that’s when things get more awkward. Tseng exits, and directs Zack and Aerith to follow him out. The looks from AVALANCHE as they make their way forward are burning, but he guesses at this point it doesn’t matter anymore.

The three of them walk in silence for a bit. Until Tseng says, “You really do enjoy making things more difficult for me, don’t you?”

“I’m never trying to, if that matters.”

“It doesn’t. Why are you still here?”

Zack doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t know, so he says nothing, but to Tseng it might be the same thing.

“Professor Hojo has informed President Shinra of the situation. The President is overjoyed to finally have the Ancient within our custody.”

“Tseng—” Zack starts only to stop, because what Hojo plans to do with Aerith—with them—is beyond what Tseng’s mission ever entailed. This is one of the few things outside his reach.

Still, Zack has caught Tseng’s attention with his urgency, and he throws a curious look over his shoulder when Zack doesn’t finish his thought.

“Do you know,” Zack says instead, “what Hojo gets up to? What Hollander was involved with?”

Tseng is quiet as he thinks his answer over. “Vaguely. A lot of their work was and is classified. Where Hollander is concerned, I probably know as much as you. Professor Hojo is more complicated. For example, at that time, I was aware your body was recovered for research purposes. However, I was led to believe this was post-mortem research.”

“What about Sephiroth?” Zack asks. Just saying his name sends a ripple along his skin that leaves his hair standing up.

“His body was never recovered, but then, it allegedly fell into the reactor core. Unfortunate,” he says drily.

“No, I mean…” Zack shakes his head. “Never mind.”

Tseng gives him another look but lets it lie. He leads them to a hall filled with cells, and while it’s close to the labs it doesn’t seem special. “Here we are,” he says, unlocking the closest door and gesturing for them to enter. “You will wait here until you’re collected. I suspect the Professor is readying your new quarters.”  
Zack looks inside with crossed arms. There’s a single small bunk and a toilet in the corner. That’s about it. “Thanks, Tseng. For trying.”

Tseng’s expression doesn’t change but he inclines his head. “We’ll see how your luck fares this time. You’re too smart for escape attempts, Zack.”

The shuts securely behind them, and while Zack checks the door Aerith comments, “You two seem friendly.”

Zack raps his knuckles gently against the metal and tests for space between the pieces of it. “We’re friends. I think. Maybe it’s just mutual respect. It’s weird. When I worked for ShinRa I didn’t think twice about things like that. If we got along during missions and talked outside of missions, that was enough for me. But now… It’s like I have to second guess everything.”

Zack turns around and sits on the ground. These doors shouldn’t have the durability to withstand his strength. Plus, Tseng didn’t bother to confiscate his materia. Breaking out shouldn’t be too much of an issue, but he’s in dire need of rest if they’re going to get out of the building while it’s on high alert.

“I used to find him kind of scary,” Aerith says. “When I was younger.”

Zack laughs. “He’s a good guy. Just… doing his job.”

Aerith hums. “It troubled you, didn’t it? Just doing your job.”

“Not at first.” He means to say more, but just that much makes him feel so drained. The smile falls from his face and he can’t find the will to replace it.

Aerith crouches down in front of him, then, and touches his forehead with the back of her hand, cups his cheeks, lets her fingers tease his earlobes. The heat coming off her palms makes his head swim.

“Are you okay, Zack? You’re pale. And your eyes…”

“Are stunning?”

Aerith chuckles and gives his ears a light squeeze. “Yes, but I was going to say not focusing.”

Zack closes his eyes and leans his head back against the door. “Just tired. Haven’t really gotten much sleep lately.”

“I know.” One hand goes to his elbow and the other to his upper arm. “Come on, you’re going to lie down.”

Zack stays right where he is, keeps his eyes closed. “You take it. I’m used to sleeping on the ground.”

“Nope, and if you refuse we’ll both nap on the floor. So up you go.”

Zack allows himself to be pulled to his feet and directed to the bunk. Aerith shrugs off her red jacket and folds it up. She sets it on one end and eases him down so he’ll rest his head there. It’s barely any cushion at all, but it smells like her. The bunk isn’t comfortable, but it is better than the floor, even if his heels hang off the end.

Aerith takes a seat on the ground beside him. She catches Zack’s arm between hers and rests her head on top. Her thumb hugs his hand while her fingers rub between his knuckles gently as if to remind him of her presence.

“I know it didn’t really go as planned, but I appreciate that you came for me.”

“Before, I couldn’t. I didn’t know where you were. I knew you were out there, somewhere. I knew that you were hurting. But there was nothing I could do. This time was different. Not even the full ShinRa army could have kept me away.”

Zack’s fingers twitch. “You knew, huh. Even after years?”

“Mhm. I tried and tried, but I could never reach you.”

“How, though?”

“Because I’m a Cetra. In the church and the garden at home, when I close my eyes I can hear it. The planet. The ones who’ve returned to the lifestream too soon. And I know, I know if something had happened to you, you would have returned to me. I would have heard you, but I never did.”

Zack digests that as best he can. Once he thinks he understands as best as he’s going to at the moment, he asks, “Are you really the last one?”

“I am.”

“How do you know?” He asks, thinking of Sephiroth, and of Jenova, despite what he already knows.

“Because my mother told me. When she was alive and after she returned to the lifestream. If there were others, I would know.”

“And that’s why ShinRa wants you? Because you hear the planet?”

“Because they think I can lead them to the Promised Land.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s,” she sighs, “ a land supposedly overflowing with endless mako. A land that promises everlasting happiness to those who find their way there.”

“...Can you bring them there?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t even know if the Promised Land exists. I’m a Cetra, but really all I do is listen. To the planet, to the wishes of those who’ve passed on. I don’t know what I’m meant to do with any of it. I don’t know what Cetra thousands of years ago would have done.”

“Your mother doesn’t say?”

Against his side she shakes her head gently. “It’s more like… impressions. I have to find the answers for myself.”

Zack hums, thinks of the church and its vibrant yellow flowers that have only flourished under Aerith’s care. He thinks of the garden that started as a small, struggling patch and has grown to cover the entire yard with more varieties of plant life than he’s ever seen anywhere in Midgar, slums or up top.

“Y’know… maybe the Promised Land isn’t a place. Maybe it’s wherever you are, Aerith. Maybe you’re the Promised Land.”

Aerith’s hand squeezes his. “You think so?”

Zack shrugs and swallows a yawn. “Maybe. You are that amazing, after all. You’re my Promised Land.”

Aerith laughs lightly and her grip on his hand loosens, just a bit. “If you’re right, then we definitely need to get out of here.”

“If I’m wrong we still need to get out of here. I dunno about you, but I’m so done with being a lab rat.”

Aerith lets go of his hand to reach across his stomach and hug him. “Yeah. I’ll keep guard, alright? So get some rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters might be actively getting worse. That or my insecurity is growing. Possibly both. Never discount both. But we're still having fun right
> 
> The actual going ons of the ShinRa mansion basement experiments are pretty vague/inconsistent/weird. The interpretation for this series is that Hojo was trying to create Sephiroth clones/copies. If Project G can do it, so can Project S. But better, because no degradation. The Jenova Reunion Theory develops as a result, but the two are separate.
> 
> I’m not sure if Sephiroth clones is what Crisis Core was trying to imply with Genesis saying Zack was used for Project S, but what other conclusion am I meant to draw. Like, the cells ain’t special just because Hojo is the one injecting them. And if they’re just normal Jenova cells, what’s even the point of using Zack in the first place?
> 
> Also, like. How good is your reunion theory if it’s only applicable to people who have limited to no compatibility with the cells? What about literally all of SOLDIER, sir.
> 
> Anyway. 
> 
> As far as this series goes, Zack is more or less unconsciously resisting any influence from Jenova and/or Sephiroth, like involuntary breathing. However, he can be susceptible if the right conditions are met. In this case, a combination of high stress, exhaustion, and proximity. Despite having been with Aerith for a couple months he’s still very much in survival mode, and it’s taking a toll.
> 
> To be clear, in this chapter it’s taking the form of a signal from Jenova and a “Sephiroth clone” responding. The face to face meeting is acting as a mutual trigger of sorts.
> 
> This might be a little contrived, but allow me to live and do my silly fanfiction.
> 
> Also, I feel bad about the lack of Tifa but she’s doing a lot of observing and thinking atm. I may or may not end up writing the group exploring the building through her perspective.


End file.
